The Sixth Sense
by Anesther
Summary: A crossover of all sorts  There are people out there, people with special skills-people with gifts or curses. I am one of them.  Rated T just in case for future outcomes of the story
1. Prologue: Megara

**AN: Hello everybody! Or individual… who knows who clicks on this. XD**

**Anyway, for a heads up, this is my first time in the Disney fandom and the other cartoon fandoms really. This story is to promote the 'The Sixth Sense' contest on YouTube by Shaestel. Link: http:/www(DOT)youtube(DOT)com/watch?v=oxRpX8vYDhk**

**It's really an amazing contest and she granted me permission to write and post it here which I'm immensely honored to do! I hope I do well with each editor's character (if they say yes to me adding the others who take part in this. :3) and that this will get people into checking out her contest—their stories are gonna be awesome! :D**

XXX

**The Sixth Sense**

XXX

The ache that had throbbed throughout her body finally became a dull sting. The young woman didn't bother opening her eyes—it was always dark in the confinement space they'd shoved her in, and the only time she saw light was when the Hunters and their 'doctors' would drag her out for experimentation.

Her hands clenched tightly into fists at the thought of them, a tinge of pain spreading over her but her hatred of them overshadowed it, seething bitterly.

There was the sound of footfalls, heavy and purposeful, and she halted in mid-breath to listen.

The individuals continued forward; she breathed easily again.

She couldn't stand it anymore—the darkness was suffocating, the musty rank of the air and dankness of the vicinity worsened the conditions. She had to try escape again. Not just for her sake, but for the sake of the others whom she knew were being hunted like she had been.

Fortune and fate had been kind to her during this awful time; the space in which she was trapped was worn out throughout the years by water that leaked in through, she guessed, some sort of ancient aqueduct that was adjacent to her cell. If not that, rainwater would probably sink in from the ground into here. She felt around, the frighteningly familiar touch of the stones rough surface slightly calming her.

This was truly insanity.

Digging into the crevices, latching hard till her fingers hurt, she gave it a push.

It wriggled and slid.

She smiled a little, a foreign expression that tingled on her lips; ignoring the scrapes on her already callous digits she simply continued to push—a process she'd been working on for a little over… oh, she couldn't even remember—the black was her night _and_ day. She just knew it had been longer than she would've liked.

The stone suddenly lurched violently forward, and little bits of debris crumbled down, dusting her hair. She waited for several moments till she was certain the whole cell would not tumble upon her. A faint pungent scent of cool, fresh night air greeted her face, a sensation that was more pleasurable than it normally would have been.

She gazed the hole with a mix of frustration and hope. While her body had withered to near skin and bone, she still was not so horribly thin to squeeze past. She risked pushing another stone, this one only needing to be pushed by the side that no longer had the other block walling it in.

Cautiously, the woman crawled, relieved that the dirt was soft enough for her to simply scoop out of her way, the wet, cold earth smearing along her form. As she progressed, the earth became sticky and thick, squelching between her fingers. She almost laughed gaily at the absurdity of it all, that she was holding real, wholesome earth was a delight to her senses—she'd been deprived so long that she actually wanted to continue to feel its texture, breathe in its scent, but she knew this was not the time.

And a vague reminder formed in her mind: people only lasted so long underground.

Even so, she could still breathe, but it would eventually dissipate. Somber once more, she slithered along, holding her breath every now and then just in case. The air _was_ getting thinner now... withal, she couldn't risk exposure until she was given some sort of sign that was near—

A scraggly, prickly thing caressed her skin, and she warily reached out to find it… it was smooth, bendable and tender. A root…?

She reached up and to her amazement there were more. Sucking in a large gulp of air, she immediately began to claw at the ground above, the grainy earth falling into her ears, eyes and nostrils. She snorted it away and shook her head from reflex, but continued forth. Earth would tumble, caking her frame as it choked and clogged her throat—

Then, a miracle: the earth suddenly gave way above her; silver rays cascaded down onto the world, the whiteness and purity of the beams contrasting against the filth that coated her skin, matted in thick wads and she noticed that she reeked terribly of urine and fumes.

She inhaled deeply—the air was so _clean_! The sweet taste of it on her tongue was overwhelming, bringing tears to her eyes, lighter streaks on her mucky face; the air was so fragrant and incredible compared to the heady stench of the cell. A voice in her mind told her to gather her bearings and run before they discovered her absence.

The young woman had not realized till now how weak and exhausted she was. However, she had not the slightest inclination to lie down or rest—she just wanted to stare up the heavens, wallow in the feeling of being out of her prison; freedom had never been more of an intoxicating aroma until this night.

But there were things she had to do.

Her knees nearly buckled beneath her, unaccustomed to the act of walking; after a few minutes, she was able to retain the semblance of it again, her trek slowly making its way to a faster pace, urgent to find shelter and safety lest the Hunters are sent out to take her back.

She had no idea how long she'd been wandering, but she'd finally found a quiet rural town. The place seemed pleasant enough, even in the deafening silence of the night, but she daren't approach any home, even the buildings which appeared to be dilapidated and abandoned.

There was a mellow golden light that washed out onto the ground as she rounded a corner, and she realized it was a tavern of sorts. There was an internal struggle to continue forth and ignore it but she desperately needed scraps of paper and a writing utensil, something.

Oh, but there were _people_ in there—people who feared and tortured her kind...

She shook her head in exasperation—she'd made it this far! She could not stop now.

Storming through the empty streets, she stalked back to one of the abandoned houses, pausing with every creak and trembling wheeze the building emitted. Jiggling with the doorknob, she slipped in silently, a sleuth figure in the black.

Wandering upwards, the young woman opened a door, not even jumping when it suddenly crashed heavily upon the dusty floorboards. Scrutinizing the gloom, she caught glimpse of a desk settled by the grimy window. Walking over, she opened the drawer, grimacing as several insects scuttled out. Groping through the contents, she found an old fountain pen and a crinkled, yellow piece of paper—it was better than nothing.

Blowing away the patina of dust on the desk, she scribbled slowly and deliberately:

_Hello,_

_My name is Megara._

_I have a secret. There are people out there, people with special skills—people with gifts or curses._

_I am one of them. I am asking for your help. People like us are being hunted down. If you read this message and if you are the same, please help me fight for our freedom._

_Thank you._

All Megara needed to do now was deliver it.

And hope that someone, somewhere, will find it and spread the message for justice.

**AN: Shaestel said to have fun with it so… I did as well as I could. :3**

**P.S. Yeah, I know you find out her name till the end—I meant to do that. The building is an example of 'dues ex machina' too. XD**


	2. Jim

**AN: WHOO-HOO! It's Jim time! ;D**

**Thanks to DirtyLittleMind, Unknown Destination, puppiescute, EarthsAngel767, any anonymous followers, the rest of the lovely people who entered at YT and letting me add their characters, with last but certainly not least, Shaestel! Thanks again! :D**

_Final Hour_

A stiff man, in clothes that looked too tight to contain his musculature, eyed the younger man with a look of nonchalance, glancing at the paper again with the young soldier's information, similar blank expression intact.

"James P. Hawkins. Age: sixteen."

_And below that, it'd say 'Hunter'_, thought Jim.

"More of a pup than anything else,"

Tossing the paper flippantly back to a subordinate, the younger male stood rigid and erect, waiting for the other men to walk away; once they rounded a corner, the tension in his body left, shoulders drooping in relief.

James 'Jim' P. Hawkins turned and walked at an even pace to his section's cabin, wandering in tentatively. Seeing it was clear, he flopped back heavily upon the mattress, dragging out his switchblade and fiddling with it, balancing it precariously upon his pinky, staring up at the ceiling in boredom.

Two other males, a year or two older than him, looked at him warily; one, however, dared to sneer in distaste. Jim pointedly jabbed his switchblade into the thickness of the small cabinet, nicking out a decent sized crevice.

They hurriedly grabbed their items and exited fast; Jim smirked, but the satisfaction was inexorably incomplete. Jim sighed, hand dropping over the side of the bed, lackadaisically making incongruent patterns on the floor. He blew an exasperated huff.

Jim was not typically bored out of his mind, withal, this was a different night. He was more restless than ever—he felt an agitation that gnawed horribly at him. Jim wanted to do something, anything… but, in his heart of hearts, knew he wanted that something to be out of complete context of the Hunters.

Mind slowly drifting, images played at the outer edges, weaving in and out like terrible nightmares and beckoning dreams…

A boy with hair as red as his fiery personality laughed playfully at him— The same youthful face now gazed worriedly when his fingertips brushed his and he seemed to _lose it_— Watched solemnly, his face set, determined and guilty as Jim took the blame—

"Bring him over here!"

Jim jerked up, half-confused and half-alert from the reverie. Blankly, he stared as other Hunters rushed forward, yelling and cheering in exhilaration. Getting up, he hurried outside; dumbly realizing that twilight had settled and the first few stars were beginning to peep from underneath the violet cloak.

Rushing forward to the assembled crowd, he watched with a stout façade as several Hunters dragged out a man and woman. Within, Jim's turmoil became tumultuous instantly, heart heavy, and throat constricting as he thought of his compatriot.

He continued to stare, the man—a handsome fellow with broad shoulders and flaxen locks that hung about his angular features, sharpening them—suddenly tossed violently, managing to pull down a few of the Hunters who were holding the ends of the rope which they tied about his wrists and neck. The Hunters immediately pounced to aid their comrades and halt his actions; one threw a hard punch, knocking the blond over.

The Hunters laughed uproariously, picking him up and continuing to pull; the blond glared at them all, then met Jim's own gaze, hard as stone.

Jim averted his eyes, but was met with the sight of the woman now; she didn't look that much older, maybe by a couple of years—she was pretty, with large, deep cerulean oceans for eyes and brown hair, a few shades lighter than his own. It was harder watching them abuse her for those two simple features reminded him of his mother…

He turned away, but not before he saw her bite into a hand that covered her mouth. He smirked, delighted at the spark in her, but it left just as quickly when another Hunter stepped forth and smacked her so hard across the face she went limp.

Jim felt tears burn the outer rim of his eyes, but held them in check, blinking rapidly. God, he hated this…

"Hey, Hawkins!"

He halted; trying not to appear annoyed, the young man deftly turned on the ball of his foot. "Yeah?"

"Report to the General, now."

Jim knew better than to waste his breath and subsequently trailed after the other soldier; entering into the main office, filled with gloom from lack of light and dreary.

"It could use a little TLC don't you think?" said Jim, wanting to break the silence.

The soldier replied with nothing.

_Figures…_

Turning a knob and pushing the door ajar, Jim slid past the other man and stepped up to the desk. Their General sat comfortably in his big, overstuffed chair and Jim felt a compelling urge to drag his switchblade through it. Childish motives, but he wanted to do it.

"Hawkins, you have an assignment ahead of you. In a few hours, you will take off on your own—for this is just a simpler case than the 'freaks'—"

Jim's hand clenched into fists inside his pockets—

"—we have in our little… heh, nursing facility."

"All right; does the subject have some sort of identification that I may track him by?"

"This one is not a male, as we usually receive. It's a young woman. Her date of birth and name is unknown but we have a photo of her in this file." The General removed a medium-sized picture and placed it across Jim.

Jim stared at her, entranced by the depth and almost omnipresence of those dark eyes, like she was seeing right through into his very core without even needing to be there. For no rational reason, he liked her instantaneously.

"Your course of action with her is simple: capture her and bring her back to base. Nothing else,"

"Understood, sir,"

**XXX**

Despite the fact it had been incredibly warm throughout the day, the chill night brought was just as intense. Jim breathed out, watching the puff swirl into a cloud then dissipate even quicker. Waiting it out, the silence stretched on. Then he heard the faint whisper of movement, soft and light; promptly the young Hunter rose to full height, beginning to track down the target.

He made certain his steps were just as slow; making certain that he carefully put his left foot into the previous spot his right had been, causing the sound to decrease. He followed at a reasonable distance until the young woman came to a pause.

There was the smallest turn of her head as she glanced over her shoulder, then she sprung away into the darkness.

Jim quickly pursued her, hopping over a fence which she, too, had evaded. She ran faster, desperate and fearful; she spotted several barrels stacked neatly atop the other and she reached out to make them crash before him. It neither hindered nor slowed him down, using the momentum of that rolled towards him to pick up speed by running on it for a few seconds than hurling towards and landing nimbly behind her.

She let out a shriek of terror, whirling around to face him—for there was now nowhere to run—and she cried, pleaded in a foreign tongue.

However, Jim had been startled—for the first time in his occupation—that he pulled the trigger—

The noise reverberated around the walls, echoing back at him, an angry roar that needn't tell him of what he had just done—even if the shot had been quieter than the sigh of her dying breath, he'd have known.

He killed her.

**XXX**

"Was it successful, Hawkins?"

"Negative… the target escaped."

The General heaved a sigh, rubbed his temples and waved him, aggravated. "Useless… I knew you're more of a pup than anything else; go back to your section's cabin."

Jim followed the order, practically running all the way there, the sound of her screams and the blankness of that once bright, seemingly friendly gaze the last and first thing he saw every time he attempted to sleep.

**XXX**

He awoke in a cold sweat, heart pounding like a bird against his ribcage. Feeling as though he would vomit, Jim got up from the bed and went to the restroom. He retched out dry heaves for a while, pale and drawn with fatigue. Splashing cold water on his face in the sink, he let out a shaky sigh. The images of her, lifeless and still, had been small the very night he'd killed her on the 2nd of September; but two days afterward, they just heightened to bizarre levels—he'd see her wherever he went but would pretend nothing was wrong.

As he lifted his head, eyes as black as death stared back at him from the mirror. He let out a frightened yell, toppling backwards and scuttling away, back pressed against the wall. He shook his head, telling himself it had to be a dream—he was still trapped in it, that had to be it…

But he looked up, and there she was, a specter that had returned from the afterlife to plague him.

No… he had to be hallucinating—it's just all the work, all the stress!

Jim felt a light cold sensation against his cheek, and he held back the scream when he saw her fingers move towards his face once more.

"Go away… please, I'm sorry! I hadn't meant it!"

The woman still looked on, this time, the oculars, darker than charcoal, flamed with a ferocity that sent shivers up his spine. Her face contorted into a twisted grimace of sorrow and rage, but it was the eerie whine that she moaned that sent him reeling out into the camp site, hands covering his ears as he attempted to block it out, her presence following evenly.

"No, please! Go away! Leave me alone—get the hell away from me!"

The whine bellowed around him, growing exponentially till that was all he heard, barely able to catch his own voice, "I'm sorry! It was an accident! Please, stop—I'm sorry! I'm sorry! _I'm sorry!_"

He turned, her flickering, nearly shapeless form coming toward him, the pitch rising, becoming more bloodcurdling.

Darkness enveloped him, her bleary frame being cast out for the briefest of seconds—a slender, elegant woman, with wavy hair that appeared to be spun from threads of the sun, flashed into his mind, voice sweet and tender—then it was gone and the ghost fell upon him.

Jim screamed.

XXX

"You've finally gone insane, Hawkins—always knew it'd happen."

Jim did not even need to bite down a sardonic remark; he was so weary and anxious, wound tight from the constant, evanish pictures of the apparitions that all fight had seemed to leave him. Instead, he flitted from one side of the camp to the other, on edge though his face clearly showed nothing but his exhaustion and remorse.

He was shaken roughly by the shoulder by a Hunter, drowsily gazing up at him.

"Did you not hear me? I said the General wants you in his office, now."

As they headed there, he noticed through his periphery that many of the others paused and whispered back and forth to one another, a few curious, more amused, but the majority was disgusted.

Jim related to them most of all—he wasn't going to say it aloud, not here, but he was becoming more like the 'freaks' he helped detain, turning into a person that could no longer call themselves part of the human race.

He was a monster.

"Hawkins," said the General in a crisp voice. "You are hereby being discharged of your position, post orders of the higher government."

That stirred Jim and a flood of familiar anger swept in, "What? You're discharging me? Why—aside from not being able to get any damn sleep, there's nothing else dysfunctional with me!"

"You're too much of a risk, boy—you don't know it but the rest of us and I noticed that you becoming sloppy on the training grounds. Our higher power, too, agrees with that, however they're more disconcerted by the fact these… sightings are rising in number. You're discharged as per orders. Now get out of my sight."

Jim felt different teems of emotions, glad to be leaving this place but frightful of it. He'd always hated the job of a Hunter, withal, neither had he wanted to become like… like those freaks! He took his time reaching the cabin and filling his backpack with his few possessions.

As he stood a few feet away from the entrance of the Hunter's base, he wondered about the apparitions—they would follow him. He knew they would.

Silently, he left, a heavy object now patting his thigh. Reaching in, he saw it was a badge that the Hunters would wear.

He was no longer a Hunter, no longer even a human.

He was a being with a Sixth Sense.

He tossed the badge into the distance, grimly eyeing it as it glinted in the sunrays. He'd just thrown part of his life away; and he wasn't sure what would haunt him more: the woman or the ghost of his past.

**XXX**

"Sir, the government is wondering if Hawkins had any general direction of where he was heading."

"Not that I'm aware of—orders were to simply discharge and make him leave quickly."

"They are beginning to regret that, sir."

The General quirked a thick, gray brow, "How so?"

"They believe that he may… have a power."

"_Him_? He was a sniveling but loyal dog that took the fall for that friend of his—his _friend_ was the monster. Nothing peculiar ever occurred with him till he killed that woman. It must've been the guilt—it's worse than a disease, rotting people from the inside out."

"Sir, that's just it, they say—since those apparitions began, he's been different. They can't allow him to get away if that's the case."

"I see…"

They were quiet for a few moments then the General said, "Mark this down—he will now be one of our top priorities."

6. SEPT 14:52 AM

DESTROY JAMES HAWKINS


	3. Nemo

**AN: Hey, y'all! Shaestel gave me the most awesome permission EVER! Despite the deadline, I can still enter my character—through means of fanfiction. DAS RIGHT! Whee! And Mic Mic (puppiescute), despite my laptop's stupidity, is doing all she can to help me with getting an SVP9, bless her thoughtfulness! **

**Anyways, he's Nemo from, well, 'Little Nemo.' (Not that stinking little clownfish! XD) Does anyone remember that movie?**

**The song he would've had is Nemo (so, like, original... LOL) by Nightwish. Since the video thing is sorta impossible right now, everything about Nemo's past and background is explained in here—so please forgive anything that makes no sense or is jumbled in my attempt to explain it. I was harried by college and also am dying to do everyone else's because I don't want to make people wait... ^^;**

**I'll let you ladies and gents tell me if he's an okay entry. :3**

_Nemo_

Sunlight streamed in, resembling golden waterfalls, dappling across a young face like faerie kisses, bright and lovely. The boy's eyes fluttered open, dark and jovial. Sitting up in his bed, he cheerfully opened the blinds, squinting from the light.

He was now ten years old—double digits! It was going to be the greatest day of his whole life! Taking in a deep breath, he hollered, "ICARUS! C'MON! I'M TEN YEARS OLD! LET'S GO, BUDDY!"

A flying squirrel then emerged from his home in a tree straight across from the child's windowpane. Icarus darted agilely from branch to branch, landing perfectly on the boy's left shoulder. Soon as his companion landed, he ran towards the stairs, sliding with expertise down the railing.

"Young man, do not do that! Have a little decorum!" his mother chastised from the entryway of the kitchen.

"Got it, Mom!" he shouted cheerily.

"Be sure to be back home for your party! Wait, come back here."

Pausing, he turned around and headed for her, grinning from ear to ear.

Smiling down at her child, she kissed him tenderly on the cheek which he returned. Once that was done, she let him go, watching with a face that held a mixture of relief and wonder.

The boy was so excited!

Turning the age of ten was a wonderful, and somewhat distressing, occurrence in the country of Slumberland.

For theirs was a strange people—when individuals reached said age, they would discover the hidden powers that have been contained since birth and they would take names that either represented or hinted towards their special abilities. The people of Slumberland were also deeply connected with their kingdom, for if the land fell into despair, so would they; if the land was destroyed, their race would along with it—so deeply were they integrated.

Their small but prosperous country had always been called Slumberland, but their kings had possessed powers that did not particularly incline to the country. Nearly thirty years ago, they'd finally received a child who could manipulate dreams. King Morpheus was a gentle and kind man, despite his large, foreboding appearance.

His daughter, Camille, was also a peculiar child. Her tenth summer had been a little over a year ago yet she still did not possess a gift. In the meantime, she announced that her name would be thus and it suited her—although she was quite little, she had indescribable beauty for one so young and her tenacity more than made up for that which she lacked, a strong princess.

The people of Slumberland wondered if her gift _was_ that simple.

She did not let the fact she had no powers dissuade her from living and was perfectly content with the fact. The boy remembered how she and he had met: it'd been during a festival when he was five, and she'd been aloft in a seat; the wind had suddenly blown a strong gust which sent her hat flapping wildly into the air. He'd seen and ran off to fetch it.

He'd returned with it to her and they had become friends instantaneously. King Morpheus approved—he was usually gone on business and knew his daughter needed company during those times, being an only child as well.

The boy always looked forward to visiting with her; though they do, at times, grate on each other's nerves, the periods are brief and far in between. Slumberland's plebeians thought this was good for a potential marriage. Though the young boy was not of noble birth, it really did not matter in their country as it did in others; their king adored him, saw potential within that resonated outward, and that was enough for them.

The child was totally unaware of what the citizens thought of him—he was simply enjoying childhood.

Entering into the garden, his and the princess' favorite vicinity in the palace, he looked about for Camille. A few gentle chords thrummed harmoniously in the air, a sweet, melodic voice accompanying the tune. He grinned to himself—she always played the harp when she was in here by herself.

"Camille!" he greeted, Icarus bouncing on his shoulder as he waved hello.

The princess ceased her song and turned to smile at her friends, flitting down the miniscule flight of stairs with the grace of royalty. "I'm so glad you came! This is going to be such a wonderful day—you're now ten years old!"

Nodding vigorously, he replied, "I know! I'm really excited. When do you think it'll show that I have powers?"

Camille shrugged, an act that she pulled off to look dignified, "I'm not certain. I don't have any powers so it may just depend on its own. Don't worry; I'm certain they'll come soon. I highly doubt that both you _and_ I are going to be proclaimed as the only citizens in all of Slumberland history to not possess abilities."

He swallowed a bit, looking downcast to his left, "But… what if I don't get them?"

Camille rolled her eyes, "You make it sound as though it's a bad thing."

"It is if you think about it. Don't you ever wish you got your powers?"

The young girl laughed daintily, "Not at all—sometimes I think it's just a terrible hype. Oh, don't look at me like that; I am not saying that in defense of the knowledge that I don't have any—it just, honestly, seems as though it should be considered less of the oh-so-climatic problem that people make it out to be."

Sighing lightly, he watched as Icarus bounded off to meander in a tall, lovely rosebush. "I guess so…"

Camille glanced her friend, noting the worried frown that marred his brow, the tension in his posture. She placed a hand gently on his shoulder, patting it comfortingly, "I'm positive it'll come to you any minute now. It just takes a little time."

He slid his dark eyes to look at her, "I hope so."

"I know so," she replied firmly, eyes the color of beryl glittering with determination, wanting him to believe in himself. He'd never noticed before but… she really is beautiful; though she was a princess and her best friend, he was still a boy—ignorant or, perhaps, nonobservant to her looks. He simply enjoyed the pleasure of her company above all else. Then why was she looking so pretty? Her red hair seemed to dazzle like dancing fire, pale skin shading into a tawny hue from the sun.

He brusquely turned away, crimson dusting his cheeks.

This didn't escape Camille's notice and she giggled.

He was typically a mild-mannered child, but his temper flared in his defense, crossing his arms, "What's so funny?"

"You, of course,"

He snorted, "Nice to hear you think that,"

"You asked."

Not liking to be made a fool of, he rose but he felt a gentle tug on his sleeve, her fingers grasping it tightly. "Don't leave, please. I didn't mean what I said." said Camille, anxious if she had actually offended him.

He shook his head, "No, it's okay. I'm just overreacting."

Camille gazed at him intently, as though she was looking for the boy she usually saw; then she dropped her eyes, fidgeting with her digits. He noted long ago that she did this when she was nervous or embarrassed about something. "What?"

A rosy color tinted her alabaster skin, heart pounding in quick rhythms, similar to when she'd pluck the strings of her harp. Tentatively, she took a step forward, the blood seeming to rush even faster throughout her body. Camille's affection for him had been produced and intensifying since they'd met, admiring that he was a good person and held morals that even the adults lacked.

But did he like her back?

Now would be the moment of truth. She could tell he was nervous, for he had no idea what was occurring. The princess inhaled silently, letting it out slow. Taking the plunge, she closed her eyes—imitating what she'd seen other women do—and leaned forward.

He was completely at a loss at what to do.

Well, he knew what he _should_ do but he didn't know _how_ to do it. It was completely different from seeing parents and other grown-ups—he'd never thought he would ever kiss a girl. Girls were so… icky. Camille was a great friend but it was so odd… He gulped, rather audibly, however the constricting of his throat remained. Slowly, he merely inched forward, pulse heightening to a new level he'd never experienced before.

He stiffened at the softness of her lips… but he had always thought that a kiss like this would be warm, not cold as it was.

He heard a gasp escape her, and his eyes shot open, the sight before him sending his mind to whirl into a panic.

"Camille!" he shouted in alarm, his friend's frame disintegrating, bit by bit, before his very eyes. They watched in horror as she grew dimmer with each passing second. He reached out to grab her, but when he did, it seemed to just increase the process; she screamed—

—and was gone, her cry cut off sharply.

He was frightened, and he slumped down in fear on the ground. What had just happened?

She was gone—all of her had simply disappeared.

The boy heard the chirruping of Icarus and he looked up, astounded to see that, now, the building was crumbling about him, fading the way Camille had done. Icarus flitted with terror and pounced quickly onto the young boy's shoulder.

Running as though the devil were at his heels, he burst out through the door, an incomparable dread filling every tiny moiety of his core. Slumberland was falling about him. People ran around in fear, their cries and shrieks resonating in the air like peals of thunder.

Icarus gibbered incoherently and he glanced at the flying squirrel, disheartened to see that the little creature, too, was beginning to fade as well.

"Icarus! No, please, stay!"

But Icarus already disappeared, and the child watched in growing despair and apprehension as his whole world continued to fade out of existence.

He whirled about sharply when he heard a shout from above at the top steps of the palace, King Morpheus' face contorted with disbelief and grief. He raised his hands as though to shield his eyes from witnessing this fate, but his own were now clairvoyant, and the little boy's heart sank as the king finally left.

Then Slumberland was gone completely, and he was left alone in a world that was darker than black.

The destruction of his home had taken only mere minutes but it had felt as though it had been an excruciating eternity.

He had single-handedly brought upon the death of his beloved homeland and countrymen—a little nobody with the ability to turn anything into nothing with one touch. A name he'd picked up in an ancient textbook flitted dumbly into his mind, the fresh agony washing over him even stronger—he knew his name now.

_Nemo_.

**AN: Plus, 'Nemo' backwards is 'Omen.' DUN-DUN-DUN! XD**

**So yeah, they're a couple in the film and since I've supported it since I was little like crazy I inserted my evil fangirlism. LOL**

**His letter 'twill come later—I'll leave him in his angst… D: **

**Pretty simple though, huh? Nemo (Latin): nobody, nothing, a no-name. Camille: a noble virgin. Morpheus: in mythology, the god of dreams. **

**Yeah there appears to be loopholes but I'm gonna clear 'em up in future chapters. You're left to guess. XD**

**Also, the lyrics are pretty good from the song—if you've never heard them, I highly recommend listening to this one, and others. They have crazy instrumental ballads that would be fun for any editor, in my opinion. ^_^ **

**I hope I conveyed what would've been my video entry well and that it was all right! Please critique!**


	4. Sinbad

**AN: Sorry it took so long! You know how college can be… evil! XD Thanks to: xXPassionBlossomXx, Unknown Destination, Yume Li, koolkat4321, Princess Gakoshi, luvisnotachemical, Kirra kills, and those following in anon and at YouTube! Thanks so much for the support everybody! I'm really appreciating it! This chappie has the most words so far: 4,082! Yay! :D**

**DISCLAIMER (been forgetting this! ^^;): I do not own these characters or the background stories covering them—they are respectfully righted to the editors on YouTube. I am simply promoting them here to honor their admirable work. Nemo, while not copyrighted by me, is my only chosen character.**

**WARNING: I don't know if the way **_**I**_** portray such scenes should even qualify for a warning… anyway, it's a brief one but if scenes involving sex disturb you, avert ye eyes! Especially when poorly written. **

_Sinbad_

Leaning against the wall, letting the coolness of it sink into his flushed skin, the man watched the sky in despair, face contorting in grief.

Sinbad was sick of it all—he couldn't keep going on like this.

Everywhere he looked he saw horrors he would never be able to wash away—he'd always been… different. Nothing and no one could delight him: for if he got too close he would witness many things, many terrible, devastating things…

_A woman's lust flared for the husband of her sister—_

_—she was consumed in a fire that ignited her body—_

—_her house was burning down, her trapped in it—_

He shut his eyes, trying to remove the flashing images that whirled about in his mind, like constant bad dreams—

—_a man watched about himself nervously, twiddling his fingers insecurely—_

—_then he was falling over the edge of a rail, into cold, unforgiving waters, he couldn't swim—_

_Sinbad squeezed his eyes tighter, trying to push them back—_

—_two children played jovially in their yard—_

—_gunshots resonated powerfully in the air, the young ones lying in crimson pools, still and—_

_Stop!_

Sinbad weaved his digits tighter into his hair, pulling harshly, attempting to will away the people he'd seen, their thoughts and actions, their beginnings and their ends. Bile rose in his throat, tears stinging his eyes.

Weakly, he rose to his full height, his hair matted and clumped from lack of care, his short beard becoming somewhat scraggly. Sinbad pressed his fingers to his temple, a headache threatening to take place. There was nothing he could ever do to change their mistakes and deaths; Sinbad did not like it, but he accepted it. One could not challenge and defy fate.

He'd learned it long ago.

Rounding around a corner, Sinbad crossed idly to the other side of the street, ignoring the beeping of a horn and the angry shouting of the automobile's driver. The man felt exhausted and troubled. Faintly, he heard the clamor of gaiety echoing from inside a building, the scent of food drifting out into the city air, pungent and sour when it combined, but his stomach rumbled.

Meandering cautiously upwards, Sinbad noted with relief that there was neither security nor the need to dress formally—though the majority did so. Despite the fact hundreds of people were gathering, he was hungry enough to chance it. Averting his gaze and bowing his head low, Sinbad eased his way into the loud, crowded vicinity.

Through his periphery, though he daren't glance completely, Sinbad noticed that some party guests regarded him warily. Sinbad deemed it all the better—he did not want anyone to approach him. He came upon the buffet table and almost cried out a shout of relief. He hadn't noticed how ravenous he'd become; wandering from town to town on tiny rations that he'd score on his own certainly didn't help him. Withal, Sinbad had been so lost in those thoughts…

…no, he refused to think about them.

Sinbad made his way quietly back outside, partaking in the food he'd brought beneath the shade of the large canopy. He practically slumped down to the ground, forgetting about his meal for a few short moments. Sinbad ate and chewed thoughtfully, but as he did so, while he was starving, he found that his mind was too full to eat properly without stopping and pondering. Forcing his thoughts to focus on nothing, Sinbad made himself eat as much as he could—which wound up being everything on the platter.

His stomach was content but his mind was thrashing around notions, a tormenting hurricane.

Jerking upright from frustration, Sinbad's eyes flashed up angrily towards the sky, trying to hurl his rage upon something; and then he looked away from the brilliant golden jewel in the endless blue and saw a person who was even more dazzling than the sun.

Sinbad fought back the raging emotions, the images that fluttered towards him on an invisible current, trying to simply stare without leaving himself vulnerable to them. The figure was tall and lean, standing with a strong confidence—

—yet he was so fragile—

—the other male continued down the stairs, seemingly lost in his own little world as Sinbad continued to watch him, mesmerized, knowing that the man, too, was completely unaware of his own future—

—Sinbad looked away too late—

—he will die in an explosion—

—a fresh wave of pain poured over his mental scars, acrid and heavy. Sinbad blinked back tears that he was shedding in surprisingly quick, sincere amounts. He didn't know this man any more than he'd known the others yet he found himself weeping over this stranger.

"Are you all right?"

Sinbad lifted his head so fast that the back of his head collided with a forehead. Both individuals groaned in pain, and while Sinbad rubbed his skull, he looked up, astonished to find the man he had watched towering above him.

"Ah, shit!" the man said, rubbing his forehead; he appeared angry but when he looked down at Sinbad, he smiled a little, "That's what I get, I guess, for hovering over someone too closely."

Sinbad did not reply and merely looked back down at the ground; he wished the man would leave, yet he found himself, too, hoping he'd stay. The latter happened.

The man sat down beside him, fingers still massaging the spot where they'd bumped each other; the area was now becoming a light shade of red, however, he honestly didn't seem to mind. "I _am_ really sorry about that. Served me right," he laughed then, and Sinbad wondered if the sound, which was already pleasing, would be more so if it was completely filled with mirth. The man turned to look at him, smiling kindly, outstretching a hand, "I'm Dimitri."

Dimitri… a wonderful name…

"Hello, Dimitri," he replied, testing the name upon his tongue, "I'm Sinbad."

**XXX**

Dimitri lived on his own in an apartment made for two. While it had never bothered him before, because he liked his privacy, he found himself desiring the company of Sinbad more often. His acquaintance was certainly peculiar and fascinating to observe.

Normally, he avoided having people come over to his home but he left the invitation open for Sinbad, oddly enough. Dimitri was not entirely sure if it was due to empathy or sympathy, perhaps something akin to an insulting emotion of pity; however, he made sure Sinbad knew he was welcome. Dimitri liked Sinbad immediately—there was openness and strength to his character, a charisma that lied beneath the somber mood that hung over him like a black cloud. Dimitri realized, slowly, that he saw something in Sinbad that related to himself.

And that was why he allowed him to come and go as he pleased.

Sinbad had actually refused the offer outright but after much persuasion had been convinced to come, at least once a week so he could be provided necessities.

"Do you have a home?" he asked the other man a few weeks ago.

Sinbad was silent for a while. "No, I don't have a home… never really belonged anywhere—I just sort of wander. My father lives within this city, though, actually. But, like I said, I never really belonged anywhere and he's never minded my taking off for long periods of time."

Nodding cautiously, Dimitri stood from his chair and went into the small kitchen. Returning shortly with a tray of scones and tea—which he actually rather detested—settled back down. Sinbad silently took a scone and ate. Dimitri sipped his tea in equal silence. It was not, shockingly, awkward to either of them—as though they'd been doing this routinely all their lives.

"What about you?"

Dimitri glanced up. "What about me?"

"Do you have a home?"

"Yes, I do. I live here."

Sinbad seemed to stare down at him, almost as though he were peeling back barriers upon barriers that Dimitri had spent his whole existence stacking. And he tore it down in an instant, "A house is a place you live; home is a place where you feel accepted and belong."

Dimitri bristled, uncomfortable. "You don't know me enough to make assumptions. Besides, you sound a little hypocritical yourself."

Sinbad smiled at that. "You're right. I don't mean to judge you, though. We're simply conversing thoroughly in polite manners." To add the eloquent speech, his posture straightened immediately, face conveying a mask of superiority.

Dimitri fought hard to bite back the smile that wanted to stretch across his face; a chuckle, however, betrayed him. "If that's what you want to call it."

"It's what we _are_ doing."

"If that's what helps you sleep better at night."

Sinbad grinned, actually _grinned_, and it startled himself as much as it did Dimitri. He quickly sobered up and he clumsily got to his feet, mumbling a hasty, "I've got to run."

Dimitri felt an incredible sense of loneliness at the thought of Sinbad's absence and he reached out, gripping the man by the wrist. "Why?"

He did not answer however he kept still; Dimitri decided this was a start. Cutting straight to the point, he questioned, "Was it something I said?"

Shaking his head, Sinbad murmured, "No, it's… it's me, honestly."

"Not used to people, huh?"

Dark eyes widened in bewilderment, whirling to look at him. How did Dimitri know that? People did not know about him, did not understand him, nor did they bother to learn. This was a development he never thought may occur.

Dimitri gave him a crooked smile, communicating with no words, more clairvoyant than anything Sinbad had ever seen: I know because I am the same way.

**XXX**

The pulse that throbbed at the base of his neck increased his own; the heat and texture of flushed skin drove him insane, roving his hands boldly along the lither form, a heady musk permeating the air. Pressing his nose into the crook of Dimitri's neck, he placed soft kisses wherever he desired, hands sliding gently upon the flesh: the glossy patina of sweat gleaming in the light of the moon that bathed the room through the window in an alabaster glow.

Dimitri returned the caresses with equal fervor, capturing his lips as he explored as well. Sinbad groaned and stiffened when Dimitri ventured lower, a true pleasure he'd never known before coursing throughout his body. He shut his eyes, allowing the undeniably glorious sensation to envelope him.

Liquid fire seared and melted the skin from the ginger brushes, motions becoming swifter, needier, but there was fullness to it, an adoration neither male had ever been privileged to know. Every moan was music, every sigh a litany of beauty. Sinbad felt the usual build of ecstasy, Dimitri's frame arched taut beneath him, yet the height of it was unnerving and interminable, and the release was beyond all description, jarring him from reality and into a white, halcyon bliss.

Opening his eyes once more, Sinbad almost reeled backward at the loving look Dimitri was giving him; the valence Sinbad normally put up to avoid contact with Dimitri's mind withdrew, and emotions flooded into him, thoughts and actions and words touching his very core in ways he never believed would be directed solely to him. He was worthless, wasn't he, to have such affection bestowed upon him?

Dimitri certainly did not think so.

Brushing aside strands of hair that clung to his lover's face, Sinbad found himself smiling in content—in this instant, he felt truly happy, the warmth of it bubbling beneath his skin, rising and bursting in sporadic, delighted pops.

"I love you," whispered Dimitri, pressing his forehead against his while grinning—their little joke; Sinbad grinned back.

In the depths of those eyes, Sinbad found home.

And he never wanted to leave it.

**XXX**

The magnificent villa expanded gorgeously before him, large and opulent as the sun played its golden fingers along the ridges of the Victorian-styled vicinity. Though the grandeur of it never ceased to amaze those who lived around here, Sinbad found that he cared about this place less and less as the years went by.

His father was important in his life, even if they did not speak to one another for long periods of time; which reminded him of what he was about to his father, dread trickling into him like a steady, cold rush of water.

Taking in a deep breath for courage, he walked up the steps to the large French double-doors and rang the buzzer. A pretty maid opened it and her eyes widened slightly in surprise and delight, "Oh, Master Sinbad! What a nice surprise! Your father will be happy to see you!" She gushed cheerily, having already stepped aside to grant him entrance.

"Thank you,"

"I'll fetch your father for you, Master Sinbad. Please wait for him in the drawing room."

Nodding with a polite smile on his lips, the man strode over to one of the couches, looking around awkwardly at the splendor inside the house. As a child, he'd often come in here to play at the pool table or read when it suited him to do so; other than that, he would just leave and explore the vast gardens that enclosed about the villa.

Was that where he had picked up the habit of taking off?

Sinbad could never be too sure.

A tall man with a strong, defined appearance walked into the room, and Sinbad was nearly thrown back with astonishment to see that his father's hair and beard were a delicate color of white. …How long has it been since he's properly seen his father?

"Sinbad…" the older man greeted, somewhat standoffish.

"Hello, Father," he returned, knowing that his parent was only acting as such because both were not used to social conformities. Perhaps he had picked up his mannerisms from birth as he'd suspected after all…

"It is good to see you son. It's not often that you come back here."

Sinbad nodded a bit stiffly. "I know. I'm sorry about that."

"It doesn't offend me in the slightest," he gazed at the younger man inquisitively as he sat across from him, "Is there something you wanted from me?"

"Yes…" Could he do this?

"What is it?" he prodded.

Sinbad inhaled slowly, exhaling his words in carefully spaced measures, "I… I have a gift, Father, that I believe is time for you to know about."

There was a quiet that shrouded them and he peered intently at the floor, not wanting to look into his father's eyes, not till this was over; but, even then, he would not look up and look into his parent's eyes directly.

"What sort of gift?"

"It's part of the reason why I don't come here often… my gift is… it's not actually a 'gift', per se, but it allows me to read and understand people and objects whom I focus on."

"And how did this 'gift' come to place?" His father sounded both bemused and doubtful.

Sinbad was quiet, attempting to recall. "I don't remember exactly—I've had it for so long. But it's true. And I need your guidance to help me get through it, to help me block it all away."

Because no matter how often Dimitri looked at him with a love so intense it made his head spin, the fact of the matter was every time he stared into those eyes he'd see the repeat of Dimitri's death, over and over again: he will die in an explosion…

His father was silent for several moments, then, "Well, this is certainly a predicament. I can't tell you what to do specifically, as I don't understand your… condition—"

The way he said 'condition' made Sinbad wince, however he ignored it; his father was hearing about it for the first time ever, after all.

"—but I believe you should simply continue doing the best you can to avoid this. Exactly how deeply can you look into a person?"

"…Deep enough to see them die…"

Another long silence followed. "Ah… I see. No wonder you've never really looked at me—the way you're doing so now."

Sinbad gave a solemn nod. "There's something else,"

"What is it?"

"I would also like your blessing."

"My blessing?" His father sounded a little confused but lightness carried in his voice, "Why? You've met someone, Sinbad?"

"Yes, Father… I don't ask for much but it would mean the whole world to me. You see, he and I have been seeing each other for a couple of months—"

"_He?_" the elderly man interrupted.

Sinbad froze at the tone in his voice, "Yes, _he_."

"…Carry on, then."

Sinbad licked his lips, suddenly anxious to get this whole business over with. "It would mean a lot to me, and I'll be grateful for the rest of my life if I receive this from you. I just want your approval…"

He waited nervously for the rejection, for the voice filled with abhorrence and disgust. "And you may have it."

It was all Sinbad could do to keep from looking up, and he hoped the joy in his voice conveyed his thankfulness well. "Thank you, Father! I appreciate it." He couldn't wait to get home and tell Dimitri!

**XXX**

Dimitri nudged Sinbad playfully, and he beamed cheerfully at his lover. Even though he honestly did not give a crap about plays and other ninny events that resembled it, he found he didn't care either. He was spending the whole day with Dimitri—just the two of them together.

Sinbad looked down at one of the tuxedos Dimitri let him borrow. He inhaled deeply, the musk of Dimitri's skin all over the fabric. The man gave him a wry grin and Sinbad returned it with a more salacious, winking to further prove it. Dimitri laughed happily—Sinbad had been right: his laugh _is_ more amazing when it's true.

Glancing around, Sinbad made certain there was no one within sight before hauling Dimitri into a deserted hallway, crushing his lips fervently upon the other pair. He loved it when Dimitri seemed to just fall limp in his arms, the way two hands gripped his waist possessively, drawing his pelvis closer, making him moan…

Dimitri pulled back then, smiling dizzyingly to himself. "Can't you ever wait till we get home?"

Sinbad's pulse sped up happily at the words 'we' and 'home' in the same sentence. It made him frighteningly giddy. "You know I can't."

"Well, you better learn."

Pretending to pout, Sinbad crossed his arms which only caused Dimitri to roll his eyes. "Come on, let's go look for some good seats."

As the pair rounded a corner, a group of five men, dressed in decent looking robes, looked at them strangely. Sinbad moved closer to Dimitri, wondering if he noticed it too. The tenseness in his shoulders revealed his unease; withal, there was no apparent showing of it except to him.

It happened so fast then—

Before Sinbad could even fathom what was about to occur, he was down on the ground, a lousy heap that clutched his head in the fetal position. Rough hands clasped wound harshly around his wrists and arms, digging into the skin maliciously. Struggling to pull free, Sinbad heard Dimitri's voice from behind him and he turned violently around, watching in horror as they dragged Dimitri away, a bewildered, enraged look set on his features.

Sinbad hollered at them to release Dimitri, but they ignored his command and continued to drag him farther and farther from Dimitri, the last sight of him being his handsome face being swallowed up by the darkness of a hallway they took him into.

**XXX**

The breeze was soft and carried the vague scent of salt, caressing through his hair the way Dimitri would.

He held in his hand a note, memorizing it. Holding up a writing utensil, he grabbed a blank sheet and wrote:

_My name is Sinbad…_

_Like you, I have a secret. With just one look, I can understand any person or thing. I can see who they are, how they work… I learn their story. But the worst part is that… if I get too close, I see the end. I'd always turn away. But one day, I saw him._

_I fell in love. So did he; we were happy…_

_But I couldn't accept the thought of his death… I asked my father for guidance. He wanted to know why I asked. So I told him about my 'gift'… and about him._

_My father handed me over to the government; I escaped. So they took Dimitri._

_I'll help you._

_But only to get him back._

And with that, he let the papers go, hoping the wind would carry them where they needed to be.

**AN: -laughs maniacally- Guess I should move this up to 'M'. We're all mature here! I was telling myself at the start of volunteering to write it, "All right, no sex scenes—keep it clean. Expand beyond the 'M' category, successfully, for once!" Then: internal conflict! My fangirl side fought a good battle, and I'd almost won, but it supports Dimitri/Sinbad to no friggin' end so it cheated and shot me with a love bullet at **_**very**_** close range. I blame czarownicykot and matirudasama 'cause their love for it rubbed off on me… You all got to witness what horrors I can make up during my fangirl-moments. XD**


	5. John Smith

**AN: Thanks to: Unknown Destination, 13starsofthewolf, Hedwig the MillenniumOwl, koolkat4321, dragongirlj, Lightshade, the lovely editors on YouTube, and anyone following in anon! **

**Yes, I haven't updated in forever! I apologize profusely for it! D: I hope this makes up for it! I've been watching each entry carefully to make sure I do decent work with each one but the main problem is college. It consumes mah life… I'll keep striving to do my best for all of you! Thanks for the support!**

**Anyway, little note: firstly, there's 100+ characters, so that means 100+ chapters before the 'story' takes off. Kay? Bear with me. (I want them **_**all**_** involved. O.O)**

_John Smith_

"John, darling, please be careful!" a woman shouted, brushing long blonde hair away from her face.

A child of no more than seven hopped from rock to rock, twirling daintily on the balls of his feet, facing his mother. "I'm fine! See, watch?" He repeated the process, moving faster, grace and agility in every light step.

"Oh, John, stop!" his mother called again, wringing her hands with worry, "I don't want you hurting yourself—because when that happens, I'm not going to baby you."

John stopped, looked at her over his shoulder, and grinned widely. Jumping back to the ground, he held his hands up in defense, "Okay, there, I'm down."

Hurrying to her, he continued to look at her adoringly, face exuberant. The petulant scowl on her face twitched. He simply continued to smile then, finally, the frown broke and he felt as though he was bathed in sunshine.

John loved seeing his mother smile—she was always so sad nowadays. Finances were difficult but they'd only increased over the past few years, and he didn't want to add more strain to her already weak heart. With her constant headaches and nightly visits to the bathroom made the little boy feel guilt.

The first night he'd discovered her on his knees, breathing so harshly it was a wheeze, John wrinkled his nose at the rank of vomit in the air, her once lustrous hair dangling about her in damp, lank strands, and he felt a pity and sympathy warm his little body. Gently he walked up behind her, placing a hand upon her shoulder.

The woman flinched and became stiff; they remained like that for a few moments and John suddenly heard her softly weeping, body shuddering beneath his tiny palm.

"Mom?"

She shook her head, sniffing heavily before turning to face him. He quickly brushed away the tears from her face and she smiled weakly. "Oh, honey… I'm so sorry I'm such a mess. You shouldn't be comforting me—that's a mommy's job," she pulled him into her embrace, holding him so tight he thought she'd never let him go, which was more than all right for him, "I'll do better to be a good mother to you—I promise."

John wrapped his arms around her neck, "But I have to take care of you too—who's going to be your mommy?"

For some reason that just made her cry harder, sobs wrenching painfully out of her throat, and they'd held on to other till the dawn.

"What are you thinking about little one?"

John broke out of the reverie, beaming again at her. "Nothing Mama,"

She sighed and gave him a little smirk, "Whatever you say young man. Now, I have to go into town for a little bit. Will you be all right by yourself?"

"Yup! I'm a man, you know that!"

She laughed, the sound chilling him like a haunting melody, wondering when she'll do it all the time like before. "Very well; now I don't want you wandering too far from the house. Promise me that."

"I promise."

She bent to kiss his forehead, pulled her shawl tighter about her frail shoulders and walked off. As soon as she was out of sight, the young boy ran fast into the wood, valences of fresh pine and mighty oak stretching farther than he could see; eerie murmurs of greeting rang in his ears, the very world pulsing beneath and about his form; John felt the wind dancing past his clothes, caressing his skin, whispering, _Hello again friend._

He laughed. "But I always see you!"

_That's impossible child, no one can see the wind._

"That's true!" he readily agreed, running ever faster. He finally came upon a beautiful glade, the clean water shining brightly from the golden rays filtering through the willow tree's leaves. He climbed up the large root connected to the tree and took his usual spot before it.

He smiled, quivering with excitement in his spot, as the tree appeared to come to life, a face carving itself within the bark. The willow returned the grin, brushing a golden lock from his face with a vine.

"Hello John Smith,"

"Hello again," he said, now jumping in place, cerulean orbs bright and blue as the sky.

The tree laughed aloud, amused and touched by the little boy's cheerfulness. "Oh, it's so nice to receive attention—an old woman like me should not be cast aside so quickly."

"I wouldn't cast you aside like that Grandmother Willow,"

"I know dearest, but your gift allows you to be in tune with all of nature, from the tiniest, seemingly insignificant pebble, to the proudest mountain. You're a special one,"

John's face filled with color at the praise.

_But, understand young one,_ the wind spoke,_ would you really care so much about us if you didn't possess this power the Great Spirit has bestowed upon you?_

"Yes," he replied quickly.

The wind suddenly became silent, questioning his answer; John then wondered silently and whispered, "No… I guess not."

The willow's vines ruffled irritably. "Oh you," she snapped at her brother, "You're always giving the lad a difficult time."

A breeze went harshly into some of the vines, causing them to glimmer with each touch, _If no one explains to him anything, how will he harness the potential for that power?_

Snorting, the willow rolled the black, penetrating holes she used for eyes, "You're simply an egotist because you believe you can do as you please merely because you're not held down like the rest of us."

Gusts of air blew around them, laughing heartily, _You know me well sister._

John's smiled returned easily to his features, and he looked up at them, "Grandmother Willow, I have to ask you something,"

She turned to him, smiling gently, "What is it sweet child?"

John's usual grin was gone in an instant, expression peculiarly somber. "Do you know what I can do for my mother?"

Everything around him went still.

"How is she faring?"

John's eyes slid down to his hands resting upon his thighs; they clenched tightly. "She's not doing so well… I'm worried for her Grandmother Willow, and I don't know what to do."

A robin suddenly chirped, "How did the medicinal herbs the others and I gathered for her work?"

"They had been fine for her for a while but it didn't work really long. She… she just gets sicker…" Tears leaked out his eyes, streaming down his cheeks. Several woodland creatures went over to comfort him, and he absentmindedly petted them.

Grandmother Willow finally answered, "Perhaps we can try my leaves and bark. It's bitter but effective. Have your mother or you little one grind up the leaves and put them in her tea. You told me yesterday she's suffering from fevers as well—the leaves will help with that. And the constant aches in her body and bones will be aided by the bark. I suggest visiting the apothecary that just arrived in your town as well—he may have other items to help her. But in the meantime, we'll try mine. Do you have your knife with you?"

John nodded, producing a knife from a little stripe attached to his calf.

"All right, come here and remove some."

Immediately he began to cut some leaves and detached a few pieces of bark, moving as swiftly and gently as he could to not hurt her. "I'm not hurting you am I?"

She chuckled, "No, you're doing just fine—I barely feel a thing."

Once he gathered enough, he looked affectionately up at her, eyes filling with tears again. "Thank you so much,"

"It's never a problem helping you."

The wind suddenly carried a voice to him, calling out his name in worry.

"That's my mother calling," he said, then turned to face her, "Thank you so much again! All of you! Goodbye! I'll see you all tomorrow!"

With that, he allowed the wind carry his feet faster, coming upon his mother in such a rush he almost dropped his bundle of remedies.

"Oh, John, there you are! I was so worried."

"I'm all right," he told her, beaming up at her once more. _And you will be too. I promise._

**XXX**

Wandering into a bar, the young man pulled out a chair, sinking into it with weariness. He clasped his hands together and placed his head upon them, drawn into his fatigue.

"'Allo, love," a sultry voice murmured.

Looking up, John peered at her quietly, detached.

"Fancy anything?" she asked, voice low; he noticed the way her body motioned to him, curvaceous and full. John eyed her a moment then said, "Nothing at all. I'm simply resting."

It was a polite way of refusing her offer, but the wench sniffed haughtily and tossed her hair flippantly over her shoulder. "We only serve customers," she pointedly answered.

John groaned in exasperation, silently getting up to leave. Once he was outside, he mumbled a curse and petulantly scowled as he walked. He had come back to this place, this once desolate and dilapidated little village, and was surprised by how prosperous it now became.

Having visited his mother's grave, he soon visited the ancient willow in the glade, seeking guidance in things he needed to do. Normally, he'd feel a little at peace. But he had left feeling anxious and hassled by grief. Even though his mother has been gone for so long, he still could recall the touch of her hand, the way she'd hold him tight, or he her, when the nightmares grew so bad.

John covered his face with a hand, blowing out a breath of defeat.

He didn't noticed watch where he was going and stumbled over something, or someone.

A feral growl escaped past teeth, rumbling deep in a chest, and he turned around in surprise to see a dog making that sound at him.

He held up a hand in surrender, but the dog continued to snarl.

"It's all right," he said, "I'm a friend."

The dog simply kept growling, and he knew in an instant she was about to lash at him. "I'm telling you sorry,"

"Sorry doesn't cover it," she mumbled.

"It was an accident—believe me; I wouldn't have done that one purpose."

The she-dog backed away a few steps, whispering, "Is he actually talking back to me?"

John laughed joyously, "Yes, I am. I understand you."

She ceased her growls and stared at him with wide eyes. "You… you can hear me speaking?"

"Crystal clear,"

She looked confused, cocking her head at an angle, peering at him inquisitively, "Really? How is that possible?"

John looked around cautiously, standing up to his full height and brushing the dust out of his hair. "I have this gift—it helps me communicate with nature."

The dog actually appeared skeptical of this but allowed her hackles to drop. "Well… seeing how you are speaking to me in plain dog, I suppose I have to take your word for it."

He gave her a genuine smile. "I'm John Smith."

"I'm… hmm…"

"No name?"

"We animals don't really see the points of them—you humans just have a need to name everything you see."

This somewhat dry humor was refreshing and it delighted him more than he thought, "Well then… you're now Sasha, if that's all right with you."

"Sasha… I like the sound of that."

**XXX**

The sky outside was so blue, so vast and open. He wanted to reach out to touch it, even though it would always be too far; he recalled however that he was looking at it through bars, trapped within man-made walls. The stones holding him prisoner were fake, not genuine and alive like the rocks that littered beds of streams; the floor beneath him prevented him from feeling the comfortable vibrations of earth outside, gentle, rhythmic booms that made his subconscious remember being pressed against his mother's breast, listening aptly to the heart as it lulled him to sleep…

All of it seemed so long ago.

How long has it been now since she died?

It felt much longer than eighteen years… was today the anniversary? He could barely keep track of the days.

A trickle of air drafted through into the cell, and he breathed in deeply, comforted by the presence of the wind.

_I'm here._

"I know, you always are,"

_Unless you're trapped where they perform those… those _things_ on you—I can't help you in there._

"You can't fix everything, my friend. It's all right."

The wind seemed to grow heavy with stubbornness, and John found the strength to offer a grin. It gets harder and harder to remember that smiling used to be natural to him. He was deprived of the life he could feel flooding into his fingers, lost in the silence and despair that swarmed the stench already choking him.

_We have to get you out of here, young one._

He moaned, leaning his head against the wall. "How?"

And then a paper fell into his lap, tinged with yellow from age and crinkled. Turning it over, he read it quietly to himself.

His response was soft, throat tightened by the emotion, "A rebellion...?"

_Appears so; this 'Megara' is determined to fight against these Hunters who continue to torture people like you._

"I don't blame her in the least," he replied, looking at the paper again, "Do you think you can gather another piece of paper for me? And help Sasha find a way in here—make sure she brings me a pen or something, please."

**XXX**

He heard the faint sound of earth moving, footfalls soft upon the ground, and he looked up. He forgot the chafing of the metal against the tender skin of his ankles, forgot he couldn't feel the beauty and comfort of nature around him when he saw Sasha come through.

"John!" she cried, running over to him, licking him affectionately on the face. She put her head against his shoulder, nuzzling him. "I managed to find a pen," Sasha whispered, pushing it towards him with a paw.

"Good. Wind brought the paper through the parting above already," said John, scribbling quickly, knowing they might check on him any moment.

_Megara,  
I need your help. My name is John and I have a gift. Nature speaks to me, and I can speak back._

_I adopted Sasha, a stray dog; she has become my best friend. If you've received this message, thank her for me. They've found me ... and taken me away._

_Security here is tight, but Sasha managed to get in. So I sent her to find you and deliver this message.  
Megara, you're my only hope.  
-J. Smith_

Once he completed it, making certain he covered everything, he rolled it up and handed it to her. She placed a paw upon his knee, whimpering sadly.

He gathered his arms around her, burying his head into the soft fur, wondering if he would ever see her again. "Be careful out there. I love you, Sasha,"

She continued to whimper quietly, even as she went back out the way she came, running swiftly out of the campsite, urgent to save him from harm. She didn't want to lose her best friend—she wouldn't be able to handle that.

In the darkness, John waited, drowning in his thoughts of the past, present and future. He whispered for the wind to help Sasha find her way before drifting off into a restless slumber.

**AN: I hope that went well! Destinydeceived's video entry is really one of my favorites and I do hope she likes it. ^^;**

**Yeah, John's a total mama's boy—he just seems like one to me. Only a man with so much confidence could be so! XD ****Okay, and for a while I was wondering, "Hmm… how is Meg getting to everybody?" and decided to use John's awesome-sauce ability to talk to the wind as the sort of dues ex machina—that note needs to go around somehow. Hope none of the editors' mind… ^^;**

**The uses about the willow are actual properties. I'm sort of a nutcase about finding medicinal remedies with herbs—a few people I know use herbs sometimes instead of prescribed medication; I think it's incredible how such an archaic method can actually still be used today (by those who know what and how to use them, of course. XD) so I got into that. LOL**

**Hope it was all right****! Wish me well—I want all these chapters to live up to the potential the editor's done for them. **


	6. Ariel

**AN: DARN YOU EXISTENCE! I'M SORRY FOR THE WAIT! D8 College… gah, it's a bloody NIGHTMARE. Thanks to: EarthsAngel767, Ice Husky, XxPassionBlossomxX, martian13, ShadeYametsu, and those who may be following in anon!**

**This one is, for the moment, undecided and will be considered a 'deleted scene' of sorts. The character, Ariel, was chosen by EarthsAngel767 but because of certain things she will not be able to participate in the contest any longer. Even so, she was one of the first whom I told will be done first—I'm late (because life stinks) but I hope she enjoys it! And if the editors grant me permission to create a storyline that's separate, though not completely, from their videos, I'll certainly keep Ariel in. I love the power she has! :3**

**Anyway, this is for you, darling! Hope it lives up to your expectations. ^^;**

**DISCLAIMER: Own nothing.**

_Ariel_

_Wake up, my beauty._

No, she didn't want to get up. She was so tired…

_It's time to rise—you have a task to do._

At those words, eyes as large and blue as the cerulean world she once lived in fluttered and opened; but there was nothing except a perpetual black around, causing the young woman to strain her eyes to peer through.

Where was she?

A small source of light trickled before her like a dazzling sunray, reminding her of the times… what did this remind her of? She could not place it at the moment, except that this hidden memory caused a terrible pang within her chest, a sense of longing and wanting to be in a place she could roam.

"Wait a minute," she murmured to herself. In a rush, everything pieced itself together: how she had rushed forward to save her friend, Sebastian, from being smashed into the ground—

—just like her mother—

—and she'd fallen down, down, into a void of nothingness, numb and cold.

"Was I…?" the girl asked herself, asked the blackness around her, "Was I _dead_?"

"Yes," a voice cooed softly, sultry and smooth, "You _had_ been dead; but I brought you back."

Glancing about furtively, the young woman narrowed her eyes, trying to find the voice, frightened but refusing to give whoever this person was the satisfaction of making her anxious. "Who are you? And what do you want from me?"

A laugh, deep with an almost smoky quality, resounded around her, "Oh, young Ariel, you certainly have much to learn,"

Suddenly, light surrounded her, and she shut her eyes tightly; after several seconds, she opened them once again, astonished to find herself dwelling within her aquatic kingdom, the familiarity of it causing her heart to leap with joy.

"You don't expect to be leaving so soon do you?"

Ariel jumped, reminded once more of the dread that crept up her form. She turned around, risking the chance to flee, when a face emerged from nowhere, causing her to halt. Tendrils of obsidian that rivaled even the black she'd been in floated around the slender features, skin tinting to an almost bluish-gray; but the crimson oculars were what unnerved Ariel most, searing into her soul.

…that is, if she _possessed_, a soul.

The other being chuckled, a delicate, wan smirk toying the corners of her mouth, "It's terrible isn't it—not having a soul?"

Ariel's eyes widened and she flinched from the woman, eyeing her with distrust, "What are you talking about?"

"Mermaids, such as you, do not possess souls at all. You live for… oh what was it, three-hundred years and then you dissolve into sea foam—born from foam, die foam. A sad existence… but you always wanted more than that, didn't you?"

Ariel stared on in a trance, mouth agape at how well this stranger was able to see past the surface and read practically her mind, her deepest wish being able to have a soul. Like the humans above, they had the beautiful gift of souls—they would live on forever, even when the physical temple was destroyed permanently.

She envied them.

Ariel recovered from her reverie, aware of the way the other woman eyed her with a calm, calculating stare, the locks of onyx moving of their own accord, unaffected by the water's currents the way hers was. And it clicked, "You're not like me, are you? You're not like anything here or above the sea, right?"

Smiling gently, the woman clapped her hands, "Yes, I am unlike you—I am Eris, the goddess of discord. I knew you could be smart—when you put your mind to it, that is,"

Offended by the remark, Ariel bristled, but held her tongue. This did not go unnoticed, and the woman lifted her chin with a slim digit, face uncomfortably near to her own, "But you have a fire in you to strive, to live and carry on—I've seen it, young mermaid, and that's why I have brought you back; because of that drive but also because you are very special."

Ariel's brows furrowed together in confusion, "What do you mean? I'm not special at all."

"You don't believe to be, but I know, for you see, your voice is not just the most beautiful in all the world—it's going to play a wonderful role that will grant you what you desire most."

Heart skipping a beat, the little mermaid listened intently, moving forward, "I'll… I'll get a soul?"

Eris gave her another smile that sent a chill down her spine, "If you do something for me, first; in order to achieve that which you want, you will have to pledge yourself to me. I require your gift."

"What _is_ my gift, exactly?"

Leaning in closely, Ariel almost backed away from the fact there was no breath escaping from Eris' parted lips, finding it disturbing. "Your voice can draw out souls from any human within hearing range. Surely you are aware of this,"

The young mermaid's face instantly became one of shock, unable to comprehend such a thing, "What? But, how…? I don't understand how that can happen."

"Of course you don't know dear," the goddess explained, as a mother would to a daughter, "Whenever you sang above the surface, you never stayed long enough to witness the humans collapsing where they stood, unmoving and gone."

"But… but I sing to my family and kin all the time; why haven't they—?"

"They haven't died before you because they don't have souls—your voice only works on humans, the only creatures on this earth who possess them. And I need your gift to help me with this."

"No!" Ariel cried, outraged and disheartened; she had killed humans, beings she envied and loved all together, by being careless, unaware of this… thing her voice could do. "I… can't help you with that! What will you do with those souls, anyway? What does a goddess like you have need of them for?"

Eris' posture straightened at once from the impertinence in the mermaid's voice, growing in height from the annoyance that pulsed beneath immortal skin, "I collect them for energy. What happens afterwards is no concern of yours. I am offering you a once in a lifetime opportunity young Ariel—if you help me gather these souls, you will have one of your own." Her voice had changed quickly from infuriated to gentle and sincere, drawing Ariel back in, "Understand your desire. If you aid me with this task, I will grant you back your life; _and_ along with the power to become human whenever you please."

Ariel froze, mind at a standstill from the thought of it. To be a human… that was all she ever wanted! But… could she trust this goddess? She didn't like the look of her; the incredibly magnificent features only heightened the unease that engulfed Ariel's every thought. But she wanted to return back home—she missed her family, missed her sisters and her fellow merfolk.

…and the chance to be human; she could not refuse that.

Eris looked at her, the knowing glint in her eyes revealed to Ariel that she had already won her over—there was nothing to consider or think about.

"All right," Ariel told her, "I'll help you."

With that said, Eris vanished, and life breathed itself back into her, causing Ariel to gasp out in surprise. She looked at her body, wriggling her tailfin in wonder. She had to see if it was real…

And as soon as she broke the water's surface, she made herself change; and it _worked_.

**XXX**

But she hadn't known there would be so much _pain_ that came with it. Whenever she mingled throughout the crowded plazas and streets, she would look at these happy people and wonder, why she had to kill them. It was unfair to take their lives; she had no business doing so.

Eris told her that there was no need to be so worried—for she needn't kill everyone. As long as she lured the 'victim' away quickly and to a secluded vicinity, no one will ever found out about her 'gift' and she'll be able to remain amongst their kind, enjoying beautiful, warm sunshine, touch the earth she'd never thought could be so hard and sturdy yet soft and fragrant.

Ariel loved this world, loved it more than she thought she could, and she loved the humans who hustled and bustled through the days to make a living.

No, Ariel did not find it fair; but she did what she had to do.

Today's target, however, was someone she didn't want to sing to at all. And she prolonged the inevitable as long as possible.

But the child saw her and gaily rushed over to her, a little girl with lovely dark curls that framed a pretty face and made her dark eyes sparkle.

"Ariel! I'm so happy to see you! Are you going to be able to come over? My mommy just got some new dolls for me and I want to show them to you."

The mermaid's heart wept in silence as she murmured, "Of course, but I'd like to show you something, too, first."

The child's eyes shined with mirth, excited at the prospect of a surprise. "Ooh, what is it?"

Ariel smiled down at her, ruffling the young girl's hair, "You'll see."

Eventually, they came upon a splendid glen, light reflecting iridescently on the surface of the water and the girl turned to Ariel in delight, "It's so pretty! How'd you find it? I didn't know we had this nearby home."

"I saw it on my way to your place a few days ago and reminded myself today to show you; you like it, then? That makes me happy Derorah,"

Vaguely, she sifted through her mind to find the meaning of the child's name: as free as a bird.

Why did she have to cage her soul, then, in a pathetic little orb? All for the sake of Eris' haphazard need for human souls.

It wasn't fair.

Derorah turned to look up at Ariel and suddenly leapt into her arms, hugging her tightly, "Thanks so much for sharing this with me! Can we come back here everyday?"

Ariel fought hard to keep herself from crying, the unfamiliar sting of tears threatening to reveal it all. She opened her mouth, not to speak, but to sing…

_No, I can't!_

She pulled away, resolute in her decision not to take the girl's life. Then a terrible pain shot its way up her legs, causing her to fall in a heap on the ground, terrified and bewildered at the intensity of heat that seared itself into these new bones. What was happening?

"Ariel, are you okay?" cried out Derorah, "What's wrong?"

She shook her head, causing her hair to tumble past her face, "It's nothing,"

"I'll go get my mom!"

Ariel, having no strength to move, remained stock-still on the grass; the mermaid was still astonished as to what happened. This had never occurred before, not in all the times she's been becoming human. What was this terrible fire that spread up and encircled her veins?

Remaining like this for a few moments, Ariel was immensely relieved to feel the pain decease, becoming little more than a dull ache. Slowly, she propped herself up on her elbows, and sat up. With a deep breath, she placed her foot gently on the ground and stood—

—and immediately cried out in anguish, feet and legs stinging unbearably, the fire returning a thousand times stronger than before.

"What's happening…?"

"Miss, are you all right?"

Ariel's head snapped up in alarm at the unfamiliar voice; she watched in an anxious state as a tall man ran to her aid, holding her up gently with an arm beneath her back. While she was nervous to be this close to a human she's never seen before, she wondered if the nervousness could be due to something else as well—deep, blue eyes eyed her with concern, high-cheeks bones jutting out in a strongly structured face, causing her to wonder what it would be like to touch them.

"Miss, are you all right?" the young male repeated.

Dazedly, she replied with a simple, "Uh-huh…"

Smiling gently, the man helped her up carefully, settling her upon her feet. Again, the pain shot up and she hobbled, losing balance. Ariel was immediately caught up in lithe yet strong arms, causing her heart to speed up in a way she'd never felt before.

"Oh, be careful," the man said, holding her steady. He gave her a dazzling smile and her heart rate increased all the more.

Four men rushed upon them and Ariel stiffened; she noticed his hand squeeze her shoulder comfortingly and relaxed slightly.

"Your Highness, what happened? Is something wrong?"

_His Highness...?_ Ariel thought, head pounding.

"Yes," the man replied, holding her steady, "This young lady seems to be having trouble—"

Ariel immediately shoved him away, both from the fear of his help and the fact he was the prince. "No, my lord, I'm really all right," and, once more, pain struck her from the soles of her feet to her hips, incapacitating her completely. Another cry tore from her throat, and she fell hard to the dirt road, scared and worried.

The prince was instantly at her side, helping her up by putting an arm behind her back and the other beneath her legs, lifting her easily. Ariel's heart leapt at the nearness of a man and she noticed that a small crowd of plebeians circled around them, curious and slightly shocked by the scene. She felt a blush tint her cheeks and she lowered her head.

Faintly, she heard a whisper behind her from one of the guards, "What if she's faking it? We're close to entering a war at the moment—she could be a spy,"

Apparently, she hadn't been the only one who heard; the prince turned around angrily and snapped at the guards, "Do you honestly believe that my assassin is going to be this girl?"

"We're simply being precautious for your well-being, Your Majesty!"

"Well, stop being precautious and help me get her to the palace."

Ariel shook her head, "No, I'm fine. I don't live far from here, please—"

"I insist," he said, adding emphasis as well. He gave her another smile and the little mermaid was silence, unsure what to do.

Once they reached the foyer of the grand palace, Ariel looked about, wanting to plead to be let go—the proximity was both unnerving and intriguing. He certainly was handsome… the mermen back home would be envious.

The prince set her down carefully upon a nearby chair and excused himself, calling for several servants to attend to her. Ariel placed her feet down warily upon the marbled floor; however, she dared herself to push it hard against the surface; what if they got here and discovered the pain was gone? They'd certainly mark her suspicious then…

And, as she thought, no pain jolted through her veins.

She felt a breath caress the back of her neck and she whirled about in fear, seeing the familiar pair of crimson oculars hovering in mid-air, nightmarish and disturbing.

"Having fun?"

Ariel couldn't hold back the irritation and fear, "What happened to me? Are you doing this?"

"Of course," Eris replied smoothly, voice traveling around her softly, but it seemed to weigh upon her, "I had to punish you for refusing to kill the girl. But… I'll make it work to my advantage. You just sit here and look pretty, my dear. I'll even let you have fun with this one."

Before Ariel could ask what she meant, sure it was something horrific, the servants rounded a corner, the prince leading the way, and he was rapidly explaining the situation. "Can you do something for her?"

"We'll try, Prince Proteus," an elderly man replied, examining Ariel's legs and feet, tenderly touching possible sore spots.

Ariel looked up at the prince, sorting through what she remembered about names… Proteus: a sea deity with the gift of prophecy.

_Ironic…_ she thought quietly, and gave him a grateful smile, wondering what the chances were…

He simply returned the smile and Ariel felt her heart open, anew.

**XXX**

It's been several months now since the prince started taking care of her, but the little mermaid felt as though she'd known him all her life. He was kind and considerate, always looking out for her well-being. She was constantly worried however what the goddess was going to do eventually. She's been visited by the goddess on occasion since the first day the prince brought her to his palace, but other than that, Eris was silent as the seas on a quiet, peaceful day.

"Ariel?"

She turned, red tresses shining in the sunlight like a living fire, and she grinned as Proteus approached. "Your Highness!" she said, happy to see him.

Proteus shook his head, smiling down at her, "We'd known each other for this long; I do wish you'd call me by name, Ariel."

She blushed, "I'm sorry. I tend to forget that we're not always being watched."

Proteus took her by the hand, and she felt that insane feeling of giddiness whenever he did so. There was a growing need to be beside him, a feeling unlike any she's ever known before. She'd heard it often told in stories, in fairy tales.

Was this how love felt?

But how can a being without a soul love?

Ariel grimaced quietly when he turned away, smiling immediately when he turned back to her.

"I'm heading down to the docks in order to keep check with the cargo that we're sending out soon. Would you like to join me?"

Ariel nodded vigorously, bangs bobbing and causing him to laugh. She always enjoyed making him laugh. The little mermaid loved hearing it—he was always too exhausted with the pressures of running a kingdom, with his father slowly growing worse in age.

Together, they made their way out to the docks, and Ariel breathed in the fresh salty air. She normally didn't have time to take in the beauty that was her home, amazed at the sudden strong sensation of homesickness. She often visited with her family and still did as frequently as possible; but she could never leave now. Even if she had no soul, her heart belonged to Proteus and she was perfectly content with him.

Striding to the starboard side, Ariel leaned over and watched in delight how the waves glinted with the setting sun, hues of gold and ribbons of scarlet dancing beautifully upon purple waves. Had her home always looked this majestic?

"Missing your home, are you?"

Ariel stiffened, recognizing the smooth voice that would always seem to hover like an ominous cloud, invading her thoughts. "No, I'm simply looking at it."

"I wouldn't become so impertinent if I were you. I came here to talk; you've had your fun with the prince for several months; now's the time to do what I hired you to do."

The little mermaid felt her breath hitch in her throat, lungs constricting and barely squeaked out the feeble response of, "What…?"

"Did you honestly believe that you were going to be able to continue this charade forever? He's a human either way—they don't live long at all; he'll merely be the blink of an eye."

"No!" she whispered, hot with anger yet cold with dread, "You're lying."

"You know I'm not."

"Why can't you take other souls? Why does it have to be him?"

Ariel could feel the tension in the air thicken with the goddess' anger, near tangible around her, though she guessed she was the only once who could tell, "Have you forgotten what I'm doing for you? Don't you want a soul?"

Her body and mind cried with envy and desire for a soul, that precious energy that dwelled within humans—beings who mattered; her heart wept as well, not for the soul, but for his soul.

Resolutely, she knew what would happen if she dived back into the water now—she would become foam. She was not truly alive, just a doppelganger of her past self. Ariel turned around and briskly walked back to Proteus. Pain shocked her with each step, but she continued to move to him.

Proteus faced her, his smile breaking her withering heart.

"Know this," she murmured, "I'll always love you."

His brow furrowed in confusion before lifting up in surprise when she planted a chaste kiss upon his lips; she wished she could keep the feeling forever, but soon she was running to the side, swiftly jumping over it and delving into the sea, waiting for the sea to take her back as she heard him cry out for her.

Ariel closed her eyes, unafraid, and at peace.

**XXX**

But it wasn't that easy.

Eris had been beyond furious, yet she'd allowed the little mermaid to live. Ariel had not the faintest idea why, until she was brought back to Tartarus.

"You are ingrate, and an incompetent little girl," she said, emphasizing the fact of what Ariel is not. "But I'll glance it over… you're fortunate that I'm being lenient; I need you to do something for me. And don't worry," she said, sneering, "You won't have to take any souls on this mission."

Ariel simply sat, waiting.

"You need to find a woman named Megara. She is recruiting people with powers like yours, in order to fight against humans who seek to destroy them. I have plans of my own for them, and I need you to find her. Become her ally."

Ariel stopped remembering that conversation, looking down at the paper of which she wrote. She let it go, allowing the wind to take it. It won't be hard to find her, with the goddess of chaos following her every move, making every step unbearable, like dancing on swords.

But she hoped that Eris would never bother to look at the letter, at the slight warning that she's hinting to this Megara.

_I have to be quick. She could be anywhere, listening. You see, I have a secret. I am a mermaid._

_But that's not the secret. You see, I'm supposed to be dead. But there's more to it then that; I died, trying to save a friend. When I awoke, I was alone in the dark. _

_Until she appeared. She told me I had a gift. And gave me an offer I couldn't refuse. I'll be alive, with my family. And I could be human whenever I pleased. The only thing in return was to work for her and use my gift; and I naively accepted._

_My gift is that, if I will it, my song can take the soul out of any human in hearing range and turn it into pure energy._

_My name is Ariel. And I want out of this contract._

Ariel clenched her fists, taking another agonizing step forward; she was on her way.

**AN: Eris and Proteus are from the movie ****Sinbad**** by DreamWorks—and he is the best dude in that film EVER. Honestly, I'm happy he's being used—he's so underrated, in my opinion, and deserves more attention; and a major hug to EarthsAngel767 for having Ariel without a soul, just like in the book. MWAHAHAHA!**

**Also, in homage to Hans Christen Anderson, the author of ****The Little Mermaid**** I incorporated the element of pain when Ariel walks. In the story, when she walks it causes her feet to bleed and the pain is similar to constantly walking on sharp swords; but since the prince in the book loved to see her dance, she often did it to please him. I know right? That poor girl! And, yup, in the book, they only live 300 years then poof.**

**Has anyone ever seen ****Aquamarine**** with… oh, I forgot who the actresses are but anyway, in there, the mermaid, Aquamarine, was able to translate languages and meanings of names so I put this in here. I sort of expect mermaids to know how to do this for some reason. Otherwise, they're just half-people, half-fish creatures who eat human men. Oh yes, mermaids ate men like sirens do. But we won't have Ariel do that… XD**

**I'd like to keep Ariel when I begin the actual story, as well as the pain of walking. I think it'd be interesting to have our naïve and bubbly little Ariel mature more.**


	7. Dimitri

**AN: I CAN'T BELIEVE I HAVEN'T WORKED ON THIS STORY SINCE **_**OCTOBER**_**. College is a pain. D'8 BUT MY ACCELERATED ENGLISH CLASS IS OVER. MWAHAHA! And next week, I have it off, so I'm going to try to do as many character backgrounds as I can. If I set my mind to it, I can probably have this entire story done within a year—I just have to concentrate, plan out time to work on it, and all that fun stuff. LOL**

**Also, I actually had LOTS of characters to do before this one, but since I'm not sure when czarownicykot will come back from Spain, I wanted to do her character before she left for the country. (And I worship the ground she walks on. SHE IS AWESOME. SUB HEEEEEEER. http:/www(DOT)youtube(DOT)com/user/czarownicykot I shall miss her and her nuttiness lots. -heart breaks- Have fun, dearie!)**

**P.S. I realized that the first part can actually be taken as a more sexual encounter since nothing is specifically mentioned in a way, though that was not my intention. XD**

**DISCLAIMER: I own NADA.**

_Dimitri_

It hurt.

It burned.

It numbed.

It pained to breathe.

Nails dug into stone, scraping the skin off the fingertips. A back arched, sweat trickling profusely down alabaster skin. Tendrils of brilliant sunshine splayed along the jagged brimstone floor, wet and clinging together from the sweat of the exertion.

A sharp gasp of pain broke from chapped, parted lips. The shake of a head gave the only indication that the being held slight coherence. Long pointed digits caressed the mouth, its womanly fullness, promising it will all be over—sweet, and poisonous words that meant nothing. The young soul meant nothing to the one who towered above; she was another pawn.

Quivering, eyes shut tight, the fingernails dug into the stones further, trying to forget the unbearably intense pain that was overcoming all thought. How can it all be over soon? Every part of the body ached…

A swift movement from within felt too much like a sword penetrating the very core, scorching hot—

Then a sudden scream tore from the parched throat, bright heavenly aquatic eyes snapping open from the shock of the pain, filling the vicinity—it was not an uncommon sound among those who suffered in the belly of the earth; just another heart-wrenching cry.

The pain increased with each passing second, the body taut from tension and fatigue.

"No… no more, please…" the soul harshly murmured, a plea for it all to cease.

It fell on deaf ears; dark spawn crawled out from the shadows, watching in fascination as the dainty frame continued to squirm, beautiful in the agony that drenched each feminine curve, arms spread wide like the fallen angel she appeared to be; a collected laugh echoed—the Son had looked like that as he died for sinners.

Filthy yet innocent, the soul unleashed another powerful scream, expelling the form that had been dormant within the womb. The small mass, covered in a patina of sticky, hot gloss, writhed with new life, a life that hungered for evil, an unnatural birth.

The conceiving and birthing of sin itself.

A raucous emanated throughout the pit covered in hellfire—their prince of darkness was finally born to battle against the prince of peace.

The soul continued to shake from the demonic energy that had once resided inside, a little bit of it tainting her core. She was ignored as the father gently but firmly picked up the babe. Eyes that were darker than black, rimmed with crimson about the pupils, stared back at him.

Satan, after much trial and error, finally had his son.

The world never seemed more beautiful.

XXX

The young child gazed out the window, staring up at the infinite blue sky; the sky reminded him of something maternal, a beautiful bond that should've been shared but he only felt the vagueness of it. Somehow, the sky told him he had once been warm, sheltered in a dark confined space, the beating of drum reverberating his ears with tender and smooth rhythms.

It was ridiculous.

"Dimitri!" called a voice.

The child turned, smiling politely as he walked over to the tall woman, her broad shoulders overbearing masculinity. He pretended to tentatively peek into the classroom, watched a few children scuttle over a new toy on the matted carpets. Two other older women were the teachers of this quaint little kindergarten; the one beside him was simply the teacher's assistant. As much as they attempted to make him feel welcome, he remained detached from them and the other children.

"Go inside for a little while. The sun is pretty hot today; don't worry—it'll be time to go home soon," assured the teacher's assistant.

"Yes, Miss Giovanna."

All three women had dark eyes, much like his own although they were variously lighter shades; none seemed to be vibrant however. He found that brilliance in the sky. A few little girls in his class possessed blue eyes but none held the spark, the wonder, the life that he was seeking.

As far as Dimitri was concerned, the world had only bland people in it.

The child walked over to a counter and picked up a paintbrush, making small, smooth strokes on the paper. In his periphery, he viewed the random smiley faces, bright suns with sunglasses, and two-dimensional trees and flowers with an apathetic disinterest.

For an unknown reason, Dimitri felt special. Like he was born for a particular reason, a set purpose that was chiseled in stone—born to be revered and adored; born to be feared and respected.

He was special. He knew he had to be.

"Wow, Dimitri!" a young voice chirruped, one of the bolder little girls, "That's really pretty."

"Thank you, Annalisa."

A faint tint of red dusted her olive toned cheeks, flattered apparently to having been addressed by the cutest boy in class. She said a happy 'you're welcome!' and promptly ran over to her friends, giggling madly. Dimitri noted in his mind that it wouldn't be too long before that group got to the age where they would begin experimenting sexually, probably around twelve or thirteen years of age. They were too interested in boys already.

He faintly wondered what their parents would do if they ever bothered to look farther than the tips of their noses. A small chuckle of glee left the child's lips—they wouldn't get it, but a beating would instill some sense into those lovesick minds.

The bell striking broke his thoughts and Dimitri turned around to gather his belongings.

"Eager to go home?" inquired Giovanna, smiling at him.

Dimitri ascertained himself that he indeed was special—too many people fawned over him. All the boys would invite him to play their games, all the girls would share their snacks with them, and the teachers constantly praised him for being intelligent.

Within his heart, he felt a particular narcissism. Dimitri put on his cutest face and said, "Yes, Miss Giovanna."

She patted his head affectionately and then—almost reluctantly—went off to help the other children with their belongings. Dimitri waited by the door as he knew his ride was always on time and never had to wait for whoever was picking him up forgetting to do so.

"Ah, hello Mr. Bogomolov!" greeted Giovanna as she tended to a child's shoelaces.

Mr. Bogomolov grinned at her, "Hello Giovanna. Did Dimitri behave today?" he asked with a wink, knowing the answer.

"Of course he did—he's always showing good behavior. Mrs. Kaminski and Krupin are always happy to see him. He's a wonderful little boy."

Mr. Bogomolov nodded emphatically, hands on his hips in pride, "Yes, Dimitri's a special young man. Aren't you, son?"

Dimitri nodded with a bright grin. "Right, Papa."

He was special.

Mr. Bogomolov patted his son's shoulder, said goodbye to the women, and walked with Dimitri down the sidewalk. Dimitri stared straight ahead, head erect, spine upright and shoulders squared. They reached the car parked by the sidewalk and his mother greeted him happily.

"Hello, Mama."

"How was your day, darling?"

"It was not terrible."

His parents laughed, as though he told a funny quip.

Dimitri smiled, wondering what was funny, and looked out the window; maybe it was just the way he affected people. After all, he surmised, staring at the large expanse of blue that calmed his mind, he was special, more than ordinary and even extraordinary.

In a way, he felt like a god.

XXX

He laid in bed, naked and draped with thin blankets, an arm across the abdomen of a lover, when he felt a voice tickling his ear.

Awakening, Dimitri sits up in surprise at the fire that is engulfing where he sleeps.

"What the hell?" he asks, though he felt no fear.

A laugh, "You're not too far off."

Dimitri's brows furrowed, "Who are you? What do you want?"

"Oh, Dimitri," said the voice, "You're a special young man, aren't you?"

Dimitri waited, wondering if he was dreaming, as this was all too surreal. He knew he couldn't be—the fire was real, singeing the hairs on his bare arms from the intense heat.

"You know, don't you?" the voice asked again.

Dimitri gave a mere nod.

"Do you know how you are?"

Dimitri's eyes roved around the flames, his skin bathed in a hellish glow, "Enlighten me."

Another laugh, rough and gritty, gravel on the ears, "You're my child, the child of Satan,"

The young man said nothing, only stared at nothing but the hues that flickered violently, a valence of living heat and fire. Then he grinned, and said, "I had a feeling."

XXX

Knowing the truth, it explained his talents better than any hypothesis and theory his mind had been conjuring throughout the course of his young life. He was special because he was part of something supernatural, an enigma that the world has long forgotten ever existed. Despite the powerful knowledge, Dimitri refused to believe that his magnetism to draw in people was also due to his natural personality, not just the aura that emanates from his being a half-demon.

Satan had laughed at that.

Dimitri smiled to himself. Whether or not it depended on his demonic prowess probably had nothing or everything to do with his charisma. But as long as he could control others, what else was there to know?

He was the child of Satan.

Within his core, his inner true demon flared, and the two laughed.

**AN: I apologize for the shortness of this chapter. My mind was all, "WHY IS IT SO SHORT! LAN WON'T BE HAPPY!" but the other half of me was insisting on keeping this short because this was just to explain his origins, as well as he would need more than his background chapter to delve into his relationships with people, like Aurora and Sinbad. The ending is to foreshadow (I suppose…) his demon form, Hexxus, whom I'm excited to write about too. I hope that's okay. If my mind decides to add more, I'll just edit this chapter and add it. –fails at life- X'D**

**BTW: Bogomolov **

**Usage: Russian **

**Means "son of a bogomol/ec". The word bogomol or bogomolec is derived from Slavic bog "God", molitsya "to beg, pray" and was probably given as a nickname to a pious person.**

**I laugh at irony. **


	8. Cinderella

**AN: I realized that Dimitri was chapter SEVEN. HERP DERP.**

**Anyways, so I set ALL the other stories in-progress aside so I can just concentrate on this one large story. I have a feeling it'll hold more personal value than anything else so I'd like to do this one; before I die anyway. I forgot to ask last chapter: wish me luck and pray for me, 'cause I might kill myself working on this. XD**

**Well, a couple things to mention.**

**1. I got permission to take the characters on my own path from quite a few people so I'm going to continue piecing it together. I already have a few 'snippets' done and kinda know what I want but I'm still trying to find places of where and when characters join in. Above all, the **_**characters**_** are my main concern, NOT the plot, so if it feels like the story is lagging (once I start posting the story up) I apologize in advance.**

**2. HOWEVER, of course, character chapters ARE continuing. Everyone needs a spot in the limelight so everyone will eventually come up, despite me being slooooow. ;D **

**3. When I start uploading the 'story' chapters, it won't mess the order of 'character' chapters. It'll make sense once I start doing this since it'll be visual.**

**I can't find the emails that were sent to notify me who is following and who reviewed so I can't thank you all properly. D'8 **

**But I do remember destinydeceived saying she liked the Sinbad/Dimitri chappie. Dearie, I wasn't a fan of slash either until THEY came along. XD**

**Okey-dokey, so Cinderella was auditioned by three people but I chose the one by xworldApocalypsex since she'd gone beyond the audition and, also, the power suits what I want to do later in the actual storyline. **

**Okay, I'm done bugging you! Here's Cindy. :3**

**DISCLAIMER: NO OWN. –cries-**

_Cinderella_

"I apologize for his behavior," said a woman with red tresses, an amused smile toying her lips.

"Not at all," a gentleman responded, a laugh brightly echoing in the room, "I'm just glad you and your son could make it. Wouldn't you agree Tremaine?"

Tremaine stiffly smiled.

A boy with soot colored hair peeked from behind his mother, taking comfort in the rose and lilac scented soap she uses. The man—a friend of his parents—appeared genuinely kind and had offered him treats as soon as he entered the door, but the woman named Tremaine frightened him a little, her face hawk-like, the unusual green eyes burning into his skin. His fist tightened on his mother's dress.

Rebecca glanced down at her son, bending down slightly, "Charming, sweetheart, it's all right."

The little boy continued to cover his face in the fabric of her dress.

Rebecca turned to her friend and his wife, "Charming is not usually this shy. Normally Luis and I have to try and stop him before he hurts himself in whatever he's doing. He's rather rambunctious!"

Tremaine quirked a brow, "You named your son 'Charming?'"

Rebecca lifted a dainty hand to laugh behind, "Yes, when he was born the first word that left my husband's mouth and mine was 'charming' and his name stuck."

Tremaine held back a derisive sneer, "Well it's rather… peculiar. And I've yet to see how exactly the child is 'charming.'"

Rebecca's hand remained to cover her mouth from spewing the insult in her mind: And who names their daughter _Drizella_?

Tremaine's husband sighed, "Darling…"

The woman sighed in exasperation and excused herself, walking out of the parlor and up the stairs in a hurriedly annoyed pace she did not bother to hide. Once she was gone, Rebecca turned to her friend. "She's not very friendly. Why on earth did you ever marry her Charles?" Charming emerged a little to hear the answer; the devil-lady had gone.

Charles heaved a weary sigh, "I understand that. Tremaine has her faults but there isn't a person alive who is perfect. She can be rather kind and considerate."

"When she wants _something_ I wager."

"Rebecca…"

The woman tossed a curl of fire behind her shoulder, taking Charming under the arms and placing him onto her lap, "I know I'm being rude Charles but there was no reason to insult my son."

"And I apologize on her behalf Rebecca. I believe it to fits your son quite well—he does have a certain charm," Charles remarked, winking at the boy and was delighted to see the boy grin.

"How is Ella adjusting to it?" asked Rebecca.

"She is taking it well, surprisingly. But you know Ella—she takes after her mother."

Rebecca smiled fondly of Charles' former wife, Ilene. She had loved Ilene dearly as one would a sister and she and her husband Luis grieved for losing such a remarkable woman. Charles and they had worried over how it might affect little Ella so it was relieving to hear that she was taking it well. But even children knew how to lie.

"That is wonderful to hear. But is she really faring well?"

"Yes she is. Ella would have told me something by now if she was not getting along with her step-sisters and Tremaine."

"Although you said so yourself Charles—Ella takes after her mother. Ilene would suffer silently if it meant making someone happy. Checking on her would not hurt."

Charles nodded at his companion's reasoning. "No, I reckon not."

"Who is Ella?" inquired Charming.

The adults blinked and Rebecca smiled as Charles grinned and rose to fetch her, "Ella is his young daughter. She and you are the same age actually."

"She's six too?"

"Yes, darling; would you like to meet her? She's very nice."

The little boy nodded. Hopefully she was nice as his mother said.

Charles returned a couple of moments later, perplexed, and Rebecca inquired as to what. Charles explained that he could not find Ella anywhere.

"Are you sure?"

Charles nodded. "Quite. Normally she is in her room reading or practicing sewing but she could be playing outside with the dog and the horse."

Charming perked up, "Can I play with the animals, Mama?"

Rebecca turned to Charles for permission. At his yes, she acquiesced but said, "Let's look for little Ella first. She can't be far and when we find her, we'll find the animals."

Charming darted outside into the garden, excited at the prospect of riding a horse. Rebecca and Charles tagged along at a slower pace, though Charming paid no mind and continued to search, peeking past bushes and darting around the vast veranda.

He halted when he heard a neigh and leapt over to the noise. There beside a massive gray beast was a small little girl, gently stroking the horse's muzzle. He walked over to her and chirruped a friendly, "Hello!"

Ella jumped, her hair whipping her face. "Oh! Hello. Are you the son of Papa's friend?"

"Yes,"

"I'm Ella," she said, sticking her hand out in the mannerism she'd seen grown-up men do, though she was supposed to curtsy.

"I'm Charming," he said, taking her hand and kissing it—the way he'd been taught to do.

Ella squeaked in surprise and giggled out a, "Gross!"

From a distance away, Rebecca and Charles beamed and the man turned towards her, "You didn't name your son—fate did."

Rebecca shrugged. "Luis and I take some influence. If neither of us could speak, Fate would've named him 'mute' and _that _would be even worse than 'Drizella.'"

This time Charles didn't hold back the eye roll and chuckle.

XXX

"What do you like to do?"

Ella looked up from her novel, touched her chin thoughtfully. "Hmm… well, I enjoy all sorts of things I suppose. There's reading, cooking, riding horses, gathering flowers. Many things can be fun. What about you?"

"I like thinking up different names for me."

"Oh, really? You don't like your name."

Charming shook his head, sticking out his tongue in a cheeky response. "Nope!"

Frowning, Ella scanned through her novel and was silent for a moment. "Why don't you want to keep it?"

"Well, you've heard my name, Ella: _Charming_. What kind of kid has that name?"

"I like it."

"Of course you would—you're a girl. You like silly, frilly names."

Ella stiffened, "Just because I'm a girl doesn't mean that I like everything 'silly' and 'frilly.' You're only stereotyping. Next thing I know you're going to say girls belong in the kitchen."

Charming shook his head, "Why would I say that?" the boy asked, wrinkling his nose in distaste, "My mom doesn't do that. She's pretty bad at cooking,"

"You shouldn't say mean things about your mom; she's a wonderful lady."

Charming shrugged and grinned, "I know—my mom is the best in the world. But I'm not going to lie about her not being able to cook. Even she said she is bad at it. She likes taking me into the kitchen, though, and asks the chefs there to show me how they sauté and such. She then tells me, "Be very, very happy that we have these lovely people to serve us meals. Otherwise, you and your father wouldn't have a chance by now."

My mom isn't great at cooking but she's really good at putting flowers together in vases. She says it's like painting but it smells better. There was this one time when my mom and dad went out to town and my mom had on this hat with large, decorative flowers. A couple of bees decided to try and get the nectar out of them and my father had to run around with her as she tried to avoid them. My mom had to throw the hat behind her because she didn't want to deal with them anymore! It was really funny seeing them run around!" Charming began to chuckle uncontrollably, his face a bright pink from recalling it.

Ella had listened quietly to Charming talk about his mother, an unbelievable envy rising into her chest, tightening her throat. "So even though she and you do all these things together, you still want to change your name?"

Rolling his dark eyes, Charming nodded, "Why are you so upset about that? It's not even your name, it's mine."

"I just think that if your mother named you that then you should keep it and be grateful about it."

"Ella, you're my best friend, but you really need to lighten up."

"You should be happy that your mother is alive and gave you a name as adorable as 'Charming!' Why won't you keep it, huh? What exactly is wrong with it?"

Charming held his hands up in defense, frightened by the look of anger on her face, "Ella—"

"I think it's pretty stupid of you to want to change your name just because people like to make fun of it. Can't you just ignore them? If I can deal with my father loving another woman every day, a woman that doesn't like me at all, then why is a name that hard to handle? Are you that big of a baby?"

"Ella, calm down! You're being irrational and I don't think you should be getting mad at me! I didn't do anything to you."

The young girl huffed and crossed her arms over her chest, tears of fury stinging her eyes and she hurriedly wiped them away, ashamed of having acted out of place. Sniffling, Ella brushed her hair back behind her ear, murmuring a quiet sorry.

Charming awkwardly scratched the back of his neck, nervous about whether or not a hug was appropriate at the moment. His father would tell him he is eleven, becoming a man, and should be encouraging or comforting anyone who is upset. His mother would say the same thing, but both would say to be mindful of a woman in tears. Even so, he tentatively inched closer and laid an arm about her shoulders. He hoped her step-sisters wouldn't barge in on them—they would not only ever let them live it down; they would squawk it to the whole world, starting with their mother.

Even after all these years, Lady Tremaine was still frightening.

Ella's fists tightened and she further buried her face into her arms, wanting to tell Charming to leave her be and also wanting him to stay. She couldn't go to her father—to be a bother to him even further would not be good for either of them. He had so much to do all the time; he doted affection and love with every fiber of his being, but she grew worried that he was absorbed in his work because he was still not over the death of her mother.

Ella sighed heavily, sinking more into her arms and tried to hold back the tears.

XXX

An illness had spread throughout the country with tremendous force, settling into the bodies of rich and poor, a heavy ghost that sat on the now frail, thin chests and suffocated them.

Ella watched in dismay as her father's chest rose miniscule by miniscule, his ragged breathing filling the air. She hated this—he was dying right before her eyes and she was helpless to do anything about it. Oh, what was she to do! But she couldn't be showering only herself with pity. Charming's mother had contracted the similar sickness around the same time many individuals had begun to fall and die. Several doctors had hypothesized the beginning of a new disease, or the rebirthing of the Bubonic Plague, but that was impossible: fleas had not been giving that disease for centuries.

Charles' sudden shuddery gasp caught Ella's attention and she gripped his hand tighter, "Papa…" she croaked through the tears, "Papa, please don't go to Mama yet… I need you here with me. What will I do without you?"

Smiling through the pain, Charles lifted a pale hand and brushed it lightly atop her head before resting it there, "Oh, my sweet little girl… it will be all right,"

"No, no it won't, Papa, and you know it. How… how can I make it without you? I… don't like my step-mother or step-sisters. They're so awful, terribly awful…" she didn't know why she was spilling out her filthiest feelings of hatred now; did she have to do it _now_? While her father was lying sick and _dying_ in this bed that he once shared with her mother? Could she not let him die in peace? Did she have to be selfish and irrevocably human _now_?

But Charles did not appear to care and smiled gently at her, "Child, I know they can be difficult… but we—" he coughed violently, then breathed in a terribly shaky intake of air; she wept harder at the sight of red that now stained the corner of his mouth, "We… we have to love them, despite their nature. Your mother was like that; she taught me to be like that. I only wish I could have spent more time with you… teach you things…"

Ella's heart froze; did he regret not being closer to her? Or did he regret not having made her perfect? She loved him dearly—was this his subtle way of telling her there was something wrong with her? She wasn't sure and the confusion made her mind spin, caused her heart to hurt.

"Ella, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that… I mean to insult or demean you… believe me daughter, it is nothing like that. You're my special little angel, my precious baby girl. Don't let anyone… tell you anything different."

"Papa…" she cried softly, the tears warm, contrasting the chill she felt spread along her skin, "Papa… I'm sorry… I'm sorry for unloading my feelings… on your very _deathbed_…!"

"Shh…" he murmured, cupping her face, a weak but sincere grin on his face, "Be strong Ella. You're special. I know it. Be strong…"

His hand began to slip…

"Papa? Papa? Don't go now—please! I can't bear it—not yet!"

Charles gave her a wider smile and closed his eyes, "Be strong, my Ella."

"Papa! Papa!" she knew she was screaming at a corpse, but she wanted his eyes to open, she wanted her voice to bring him back. At that moment, she never felt more alone.

XXX

The funeral for both her father and Charming's mother had been an elegant, quiet and brief affair. She felt numb throughout the eulogies and the condolences, the prayers and the weeping. The only part of her that felt anything was her back: the eyes of her step-family, the pecking of ravens upon carrion.

She rose and walked to anywhere and nowhere. She just felt so empty.

Upon reaching the shade of a tall tree, she sank with a loud thud on the grass and lay on the earth. Cerulean orbs watched as a tiny little ladybug flew up into the air. She vaguely realized she was glad and relieved it was sunny—her father never liked overcast days. They always set him in a gloomy mood. What a terrible day that would have been to be buried on…

"Ella?"

She didn't respond.

Charming walked over to her, sullen and weak-willed. Without thinking of it, he flopped down beside her, staring up into the leafy umbrella that filtered shafts of light. At the moment, they were two lost children, barely close to thirteen, caught up in a surreal environment where nothing and everything made sense.

People live and die. That was the cycle of nature.

But it didn't mean that they had to like it. Death was not unwelcome to those who moved on; they were dead: what was there to worry? Yes, death caused hurt and grievance to those who had been left behind on this physical terrain. Death of loved ones hurt the living more than any doubled-edged sword or gun.

There was nothing they could do to reverse the effects of it.

Charming turned to look at Ella, eyes closed as though she were sleeping; the gentle rise and fall of her back gave the only indication that she was still alive. He rolled over onto his side and absentmindedly stroked her cheek.

Her eyes opened, glassy and painfully unaware of her worldly surroundings, an internal conflict occurring within.

"Ella, I'm sorry."

The tears began again, and she sat up slowly, a hand clenched tightly into a fist on the dress she wore. She had refused to adorn the traditional black—her mother and father had never particularly cared for that color. She honored that distaste for such a mournful shade with a bright viridian dress. She had resisted pinning onto the dress her mother's favorite crest: an amethyst butterfly with diamond bedecked wings. Instead, a few nights after her father had passed; she collected his and her mother's valuables and hid them way down in the cellar.

She would try to love her step-family—she promised herself, for her father's sake, that she would.

But she would die a thousand deaths before she allowed them to wear her mother's jewels.

She didn't know how to respond, her mouth quivering in silent despair; she knew, deep in her heart, she should be caring for him too—he was hurting just as badly—but she couldn't. She didn't know how.

Lost, she merely set her head down, a valence of soft flaxen tangles covering her face. Ella felt the tentative touch of his arm around her shoulders.

For a long time, they were silent—two friends that felt as though the world betrayed them and laughed a high pitched cackle. "We'll be strong together, Ella, I promise."

The words cracked her heart further and she began to bawl, face red and blotchy. Charming held her tighter and he cried with her; neither knew what else to do but weep. Just weep.

XXX

"Make sure to clean out the stables and air out the curtains in the morning,"

_I just did that today._

"Don't forget that you have to mend the hem on Anastasia's dress and you also need to clean out Drizella's wardrobe. Oh, and do not forget that the east hall needs to be dusted for the party that we are going to throw the day after tomorrow. It's absolutely filthy—the whole place is dirty! It's a wonder that we are not up to our knees in vermin."

Ella nodded, "Yes, Stepmother."

"Good," Lady Tremaine replied. She gave a curt nod to her stepdaughter before turning around to climb up the flight of stairs. She was getting rather annoyed of having to go all the way down this drafty place; perhaps it was time to move the girl to the tower. There, she won't be as much a problem, and she could avoid the coldness of the cellar.

Yes, she might just move her stepdaughter.

"Goodnight Stepmother."

No reply but the shutting of the door.

Ella sighed and groped in the darkness for her lantern. Finding the metallic handle, she felt around for a matchstick and, finding one, promptly lit it up and it flickered in the black. Not wanting to be wasteful of the oil in the lantern, she kept it at the dimmest tone and set it gently on the stone floor. Crawling over to the fireplace, Ella curled up in the still warm cinders, a shuddery sigh of relief escaping her lips. Thank goodness, it was still somewhat warm…

A heavy sleep was about to blanket her weary mind when she heard the faint drumming of fingers upon wood. She opened her eyes, wondering what was happening.

Charming!

He normally came to visit her once she headed for the cellar. Since the death of her father, Tremaine had forbidden her to speak to any man, even the son as someone as wealthy as Charming's father. She had her daughters attempt several times to gain his affection, all of them downright pathetic methods, and Tremaine had never bothered again since.

Taking hold of the lantern, she lifted it to the opening that went to the outside. Tremaine had set a lock upon the outside years ago but she hadn't the faintest clue that the chain links were red from rust and became brittle enough to be filed through.

Opening the cellar's entrance, she grinned up at the face of Charming, "Hello,"

Charming forced a smile. "Good thing I brought this," he told her, pulling out several thick woolen blankets. Ella's eyes lit up in relief and she took them gratefully. She hadn't noticed that she'd been shaking violently until she felt something of actual warmth.

Charming quietly closed the cellar doors, took one of the blankets and wrapped it about her shoulders. He took one of her hands, as cold as ice, and he began to rub it, trying hard to warm her fingers. He swore that the next time he came to 'visit' she may not have any left.

Charming gently stroked his thumb against her cheek, blackening the tip with soot and ash, "Well, it's no wonder those witches call you Cinderella."

Ella just nodded.

"I don't understand why you don't just stand up to them."

"How can I?" Ella inquired, watching him try to warm up her hands; she felt only the slightest degree of heat.

"Run away; plenty of girls would in this situation."

"It's not the same. Those girls probably had no obligation; I do."

"Ella—"

"No, Charming; I mean this."

"Your father would not to see you being mistreated like this,"

"No… he probably would not. But…" She had to be like him, be like mother: doting and forgiving.

Sighing, Charming took her by the hand and glanced at her; black marred her normally porcelain complexion, the natural blush of her cheeks diminished by the cold that bit into their skin and her hair, which always reminded him of spring in bloom—sunrays highlighting darker shades of red and brown. Brushing a few strands of titian that fell into her eyes, muddled from lack of sleep yet clear from the tears that threatened to fall, he pulled her into his chest.

"Marry me." He murmured.

Ella pulled back, shock on her features. "What?"

"Marry me."

Ella stood, gripping the blankets tightly around her shoulders, "Marry you? H-How can we—?"

Charming gazed up at her intently, "Simple. You run away and that's that."

"There's more to these sorts of things than simply running away! I…" she made a promise. "How can I turn my back on them?"

"They treat you worse than a slave and you're still willing to take care of them? Isn't there a part of you that demands for your humanity to be returned to you?"

"You know there is a part of me that longs for freedom—that's all I can dream about. But you didn't have your flesh and blood plead to you as he lay dying to look after the ones who wronged me! What do you know about this?"

"I know that your father wouldn't want you to be wallowing away in filth while your stepfamily abuses your inheritance. They're cruel, terrible people Ella!"

"You think I don't know that?" she harshly whispered, but her voice cracked, wanting to rise, "There have been days when I wish I didn't have that promise over my head! There were countless times when I prayed God would take their free will and change them for me, days when I wish they opened their hearts, days when the darkest part of me desired something so terrible to happen to them it'd leave me shaking. You… I'm scared of my mind."

Standing to full height, Charming pulled her into his embrace, stroking her hair as she cried into his shoulder, "That's why I'm saying you should marry me. I can take you from here—you won't have to deal with them anymore. I know you promised your father, and it means a lot to you to keep that promise, but there's a difference to being a slave to them and accepting that they're simply like that. Please… you have to see reason. Don't you?"

Ella sniffled, wiping her eyes. She knew he had made a point, but how could she leave the home where she was born in, took her first tentative steps? This mansion held so many memories: the garden where she and her mother would tend to the animals and plants; the spacious and elaborate library where her father would read to her; how can she leave it all to people who she knew wouldn't take care of it?

Charming rested a hand upon her cheek and smiled sincerely, pressing his forehead against hers. He wanted her to know this offer wasn't here just because she was his dearest friend, or that he pitied her. A love for her had taken place in his heart throughout the years, stubborn and blooming into a tender sweetness. He knew Ella knew that and he desperately wanted her to accept—he was her only means of escape, but aside from that, it made his heart swell with joy at the thought of marrying the woman he loved.

Ella's hand was gently resting on his forearm, understanding what he wanted to say, what he wanted her to say. A deep part within her wanted her to say 'yes' to his proposal. The little voice in her mind, the one that's always tripped her with threads of guilt, told her she was merely using him. But she knew the voice was lying—she wanted to be with him for the rest of her life.

It was time to think of herself.

"I do," she whispered, rising on her toes and brushed her lips on his.

XXX

Leaving proved more than difficult. They waited a week so nothing would seem suspicious. Ella crept about in the cellar, waiting until she felt that the entire household was asleep. Charming would be waiting by the entrance into the mansion about now in the early hours of the morning.

Ella had taken her mother's and father's dearest possessions early in the day before anyone had woken up and hidden them in a hole that was at the roots of one of the trees nearest the entrance. In case someone found her leaving. She glanced over her shoulder to see if anyone was following her, her heart sick as she saw the way the moon bathed her home in silver. She couldn't afford to become distracted now! She had to leave.

The soft footfalls, the sound of her breathing, and the beat of her nervous heartbeat were all Ella heard as she made her way to the front. The sound of a twig snapping startled her and she turned around. She kept herself from inquiring who was there—maybe Charming grew worried and decided to just leave the car running. Her palms began to sweat, the cold chill of the night air causing the hairs on the back of her neck to rise.

Another footfall, but it wasn't soft and cautious—they were heavy, purposeful almost.

It can't be Charming. He'd have no reason to be fearful if it was just her.

She can't be taken back! She realized the thought abhorred her more than anything in the world—she wanted a life that was hers and hers alone.

"Cinderella!" the voice rang out sharply, cutting the tension. Oh dear God, that _was_ her stepmother!

No, no, no… no, she can't go back…! Ella squeezed her eyes tightly, her hands fisting into her hair, shaking in the gloom. No, please, no. Inside her body, her heart began to speed within its white cage, beating against her ribs—a frantic little bird that cried out for freedom.

"Oh, child…" Lady Tremaine said her brows high in surprise, "Anastasia! What in the world are you doing out here?"

What? Ella thought, and she whirled around to face her stepmother. Anastasia? Couldn't she see her?

Tremaine's eyes narrowed in suspicion; she was certain it had been her ungrateful and spoiled stepdaughter. "Anastasia, my dear, what are you doing out here?"

Ella wondered if she was dreaming. She cleared her throat, "Oh, um, I was just—"

"Your voice is low, Anastasia. See child? You have now become ill from frolicking out here the night."

Ella cleared her throat again, trying to make her voice higher, "No, no… Mother, I thought I heard something. And while I was up, I decided to get some water since I couldn't get to sleep."

"Why did you not fetch for Cinderella? That girl is there down in the cellar—she only had to go to the kitchen."

"Well, I was already up and decided to fetch it for myself."

"Why are you outside then?"

"There was none in the pitcher and came outside. But I got distracted by how pretty tonight was and just… um… forgot…" Ella shrank under the scrutinizing beryl stare, cutting into her skin.

"Well," said Tremaine, eyeing her queerly, "Hurry back inside. I can't afford to have you or your sister ill."

"Yes, Mother."

Ella waited until Tremaine went back inside the house that she began to walk forward again, her legs stiff, stone pillars that kept her body from moving properly. She reached to tug her hair, and a scarlet curl weaved around her fingers, smooth digits that had never known hard labor.

With a newfound strength, Ella hurried over to the fountain in the garden and almost fell forward into the water, frightened by the change. Her stepsister stared back at her!

She leapt back, heart in her throat, and she fell onto her knees. Oh what happened? Why didn't she look like herself? Ella rubbed 'her' arms and shook. Slowly, she went back over to the edge and peered. Bright blue eyes stared back, her hair a light shade of reddish brown again. She was herself once more.

Ella stared at her reflection for several moments, wondering how she had done this. It felt so surreal, the inside of a dream. Touching the surface, disrupting the glass and making it ripple; Ella concentrated and made herself think of Tremaine. After what felt an eternity, she opened her eyes and there, within the crystal liquid, appeared her stepmother.

This was incredible!

Ella focused to change herself back to normal and saw her own face.

Whatever happened in her to cause this, she felt that this was an act of mercy, a gift to use to escape the living hell she succumbed to since the death of her parents. It had to be.

She murmured prayers of thanks as she hurried back to the entrance, grabbed the bundle in the tree hole, held it to her breast and ran towards where her prince waited for her. The taste of freedom overwhelmed her senses.

XXX

Then there was the taste of his skin, the beautiful sense of the removing of shackles as he enclosed his hands about her wrists, drawing her closer, the small hum of the quiet wedding ceremony in the background.

The first blessing she felt in so long; yoked to another for life yet it didn't feel as though she was losing anything—it felt freeing, to be with someone who cared for her like an actual human being.

In the darkness of their room, bound to the one who hovered above her, his breath warm in her ear, she would wonder, faintly, _Oh no… what if I change? What if he sees?_

Much to Ella's relief, that had yet to occur; she says 'yet' because she does not want to jinx herself.

Ella would, at times, wander about in the garden when Charming and his father would attend to business affairs during the week and practice with her gift. It had to be a gift—it helped her escape the prison that screamed of broken dreams and dry memories that cracked when she flitted a fingertip over them.

It felt good to breathe.

It felt good to feel normal.

It felt good to feel human.

Well, as human as she could get…

_But that doesn't matter, does it?_ thought Ella as she walked lazily towards her new home. Charming is such an accepting man; now that she remembers it, he had always been thoughtful and considerate, even when it felt he wasn't but she assumed that was due to her being a naïve child.

What _would _he do if he were to learn the truth of her power, her gift?

Ella knew it was ridiculous to allow her mind to tread on darker paths—he'd love her no matter what.

She had a sudden desire to prove it herself, to lay her fears to rest with her past life—fear had no place in her life, not here where everything was so big and wide and bright.

_I'll tell him._

XXX

"Charming?"

Her husband turned to look at her, his finger in-between the pages of his novel to keep place, "Yes?"

Ella approached him tentatively, as calm and soft as he's ever seen her. He leaned forward, giving her his full attention; it had to be serious.

"Charming… I would like you to know something about me," she paused; licked her suddenly chapped lips and murmured, "What would you say to me if I told you I was… I was different?"

Dark eyes narrowed in confusion, moving even closer till he was a hairsbreadth from her face, "What do you mean?"

"I have this… this ability, you might say, to… it's a rather strange gift. I'm able to change into whomever I've ever seen."

She didn't dare look up, see his face.

Suddenly, he chuckled, and she couldn't help her head from snapping up. "What? Ella, you're joking."

She shook her head, stunned that he wasn't taking this on a more serious note, "No. No, Charming, I'm not."

Charming stared at her for a moment, as though he were saying, _Prove it._

Ella stood, took a deep breath, and concentrated, focused her mind's eye on the image of a woman with waves of gold for hair, long and lustrous with a slender form. She would do—she'd seen her once. She heard Charming's intake of air and she knew she'd done it. She opened her eyes to see his mouth agape, staring at the face of a beautiful woman that was not his wife.

"See?" she stated more than asked.

Charming looked down then back up at her, lost for words. "Hmm… yes, I do see. I see it now."

Ella made herself change back, unnerved by the silence, and left the room that had been drained of comfort.

XXX

Trembling, fear crawling along her skin, Ella crept down the hallway. Oh, why did she tell him? She wasn't expecting him to take it… well, the way he did. She forced herself not to worry so much—it would just take time for him to get used to it. After all that he and she have shared, why should it change all because of one thing, as bizarre as it may be?

But it's been a whole week…

_No, no,_ she told herself, shaking her head, _everything will be alright. All the bad things are a part of the past now._

Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that dread awaited like a gloomy veil above her head, close to obscuring her vision. Ella continued to make her way down the hallway, and paused when her peripheral vision caught the faint shine of light.

Curiosity piqued, she began to make her way and stopped. What was she thinking? Nothing was wrong—she was being paranoid for no reason. But… she didn't like the evening felt.

Soft as a specter, Ella walked to the door, the keyhole a lighthouse that drew her in like a ship lost at sea. Her emotions were tumultuous as she peered in, heart hammering wildly in her ears. She noticed her husband sitting in a chair, the side of his face to her. She'd never seen him so stoic.

"I see," he finally said, reclining in his seat.

"Of course, we'll pay you for this."

"The money is not what I'm interested in," but he was lying through his teeth.

An elderly man with skin that almost appeared gray folded his hands, moved forward and quirked a brow, "Oh, it isn't, now? Well, I disagree with that. The woman is worth quite a lot of money—she would be a useful… addition to our program."

Ella's heart stopped beating for one pulse, two, and three…

Charming lifted a hand, rested his chin in it; leaned back as though to think it over. "You have a deal then."

Ella nearly toppled backward, cerulean orbs wide, shaking. Not thinking, she burst into a sprint down the hallway. Who was that man? What was he talking about? Charming… Charming did this to her! Tears began to spill, blurring her view. She couldn't believe this—how could he do this?

She reached the top of the stairs when she heard yelling. She instinctively slid down the banister; the French doors within reach and she opened one and ran as fast as she could. The dawn would color the world soon, but, now, the world felt so bleak. She had to escape; that was all her body knew—her mind and heart were stupefied by the betrayal.

XXX

It was high afternoon with a brilliant sun warming her clammy skin that Ella heard the rumble of thunder, delivering the message of a god of wrath, the impending doom that was bound to happen soon. It reminded her of her stepmother that final night in that prison—but this was a new pursuit, one she didn't think she could avoid. No… escape was inevitable. Even if she changed into the shape of someone that was not her, they would easily take her in for questioning.

The rumbling sound grew louder, ominous and dangerous.

Ella almost cried out in frustration because there was no shelter to seek—she was out in the open.

The noise behind her continued to increase—

"No, no!" she screamed, "Not another prison!" She can't go into another!

The screeching of wheels, a banshee in broad daylight—

It was hopeless. But she had to fight—

She heard gunshots behind her, resonant in her head like her heartbeat. She continued to run, withal—better to die than become a plaything once more.

Ella slid to a sloppy halt as the car zoomed past and parked right before her, men coming out with handcuffs, glinting their twin hooked mouth maliciously. She felt herself lose footing before being jerked roughly upright, arms pressed against her back. She turned and saw Charming there, dark and still.

"Charming…!" she croaked, "I know… I know this was frightening but—"

The men tugged at her to walk.

"—I didn't mean for this. Please, I know this is hard—" she reached forward, managing to slip her delicate hands through the grips, her digits touching the back of his hand and the feel of his skin nearly tore at her heart.

Charming looked away, glaring hostilely.

The life went out of her; she followed willingly then, a lamb for slaughter.

XXX

Her desire for vengeance was too strong, much too strong.

She curled herself up in the corner of her cell, huddled like a little ghost living in a shell. The door to the cell creaked, her daily checkup. The man who came into her cell was just a guard but he had a penchant for disturbing her "rest" now and again—he found it amusing.

But tonight, she wasn't having any of that. Tucked between her arms and breasts lay a rod, thick enough to cause harm but not kill. Though she wouldn't have minded that and if need be, the guards normally have some sort of weapon on them. She could use that if the rod wasn't enough. It was difficult to sneak in but she'd managed by moving it around in other parts of the asylum.

All her fear and rage poured out of her with each blow she delivered—the rod wound up not being enough and she'd reached for his pocket to pull out his Taser. Ella decided it was only fair—he would use it whenever he pleased with her and she hated him for it.

Quickly, she tore of her pathetically torn sheet for a nightgown and put it on the guard, taking his clothes and putting them on with haste. She had been practicing in secret her transfiguring into the guards she'd seen and transforming into them was not so hard now. Ella pulled on the cap, tugged it tightly, and walked out of the cell and down the hallway. She would pretend to know where she was going. After what felt an eternity, she came across two other men and followed them out. They were too busy in their conversation to speak to her and for that she was grateful—she still couldn't mimic men very well.

Discreetly, Ella went outside and stared up into the night sky. She wondered about the girl who had escaped from this terrible place, the one the guards would sometimes talk about.

She needed to write to this Megara.

Ella also knew that her identity needed to be guarded closely. 'Ella' was out of the question—that's who everyone was looking for. But that girl was dead; she _has_ been dead since losing her parents, then brought back briefly only to die with her heart on her sleeve.

_Cinderella_, however, was very much alive. She was the girl who dealt with abusive family members, breathed in ashes and stale crumbs yet still held that spark of life, clung to it and held. Not like _Ella_ who tried to live with happiness and comfort around her like some private shawl, only to be unaware of the moth holes.

Yes, she needed to write to Megara. And she knew what she would say.

_Dear Megara,_

_My name is Cinderella. Just like you, I have a "gift." I can turn into anyone I have ever seen. I eventually told my husband about my ability. The __**one**__ man I truly trusted. Then I found out he was one of __**them**__._

_I ran but they caught me._

_He betrayed me. But I escaped. I'm on my way._

_I will fight for our freedom… and my revenge. _

**AN: FINALLY, SHE'S DONE. Gah! Out of them all so far, Cinderella was definitely the hardest to write. She was fun, no doubt, but so **_**demanding**_**. I would do one thing and she'd go, "Nooooo…" XD **

**In the original version Cinderella was given her name because the girl would curl up in the cinders of the fireplace for warmth. Also, the names the parents have are for reasons: Charles is for Charles Perrault, the creator of the original Cinderella fairytale; Ilene is from Ilene Woods, the voice actress for Cinderella (who died in 2010. D'X); Luis is from the original voice actor for the King (both he and Ilene are from Disney's version); and Rebecca… well, Charming's mom in the third movie just looked like a Rebecca. XD Cinderella will be known as Cinderella, but also Ella and Cindy for nicknames (by others) 'cause I say so. LOL**


End file.
